/A^ 


NASBY  IN  EXILE: 


OR, 


SIX  MONTHS  OF  TRAVEL 

IN 

England,  Ireland,  Scotland,  France,  Germany, 
Switzerland  and  Belgium, 

WITH  MANY  THINGS  NOT  OF  TRAVEL. 


BY 


(PEtTDlBUin  "Sr.  Nasby.) 


PROFUSELY  ILLUSTRATED. 


TOLEpO  AND  BOSTON  : 

Locke  Publishing  Company. 

1882. 


L75 


COPYRIGHT, 

1882, 
By  DAVID  E.   LOCKE\ 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED. 


I': 


Blase  Pbinttng  and  Paper  Co., 
Printers  and  Binders, 

TOLEDO,  O. 


PREFACE. 


On  the  afternoon  of  May  14,  1881,  the  good  ship  "  City  of  Richmond,'* 
steamed  out  of  New  York  harbor  with  a  varied  assortment  of  passen- 
gers on  board,  all  intent  upon  seeing  Europe.  Among  these  was  the 
writer  of  the  pages  that  follow. 

Six  of  the  passengers  having  contracted  a  sort  of  liking  for  each 
other,  made  a  tour  of  six  months  together,  that  is,  together  most  of  the 
time. 

This  book  is  the  record  of  their  experiences,  as  they  appeared  origin- 
ally in  the  columns  of  the  Toledo  Blade. 

It  is  not  issued  in  compliance  with  any  demand  for  it.  I  have  no 
recollection  that  any  one  of  the  one  hundred  thousand  regular  sub- 
scribers to  the  Toledo  Blade  ever  asked  that  the  letters  that  appeared 
from  week  to  week  in  its  columns  should  be  gathered  into  book  form. 
The  volume  is  a  purely  mercantile  speculation,  which  may  or  may  not 
be  successful.  The  publishers  held  that  the  matter  was  of  sufficient 
value  to  go  between  covers,  and  believing  that  they  were  good  judges 
of  such  things,  I  edited  the  letters,  and  here  they  are. 

The  ground  we  went  over  has  been  gone  over  by  other  writers  a 
thousand  times.  We  went  where  other  tourists  have  gone,  and  what  we 
saw  others  have  seen.  The  only  difference  between  this  book  and  the 
thousands  of  others  that  have  been  printed  describing  the  same  scenes, 
is  purely  the  difference  in  the  eyes  of  the  writers  who  saw  them  I 
saw  the  countries  I  visited  with  a  pair  of  American  eyes,  and  judged 
of  men  and  things  from  a  purely  American  stand-point. 

I  have  not  attempted  to  describe  scenery,  and  buildings,  and  things 
of  that  nature,  at  all.  That  has  been  done  by  men  and  women  more 
capable  of  such  work  than  I  am.  Every  library  in  America  is  full  of 
books  of  that  nature.  But  I  was  interested  in  the  men  and  women  of 
the  countries  I  passed  through,  I  was  interested  in  tlieir  ways  of  living, 
their  industries  and  their  customs    and   habits,    and  I  tried  faithfully 

(V) 

849557 


VI  PREFACE. 

to  put  upon  paper  what  I  saw,  as  well  as  the  observations  and  com' 
ments  of  the  party  that  traveled  and  observed  with  me. 

I  have  a  hope  that  the  readers  of  these  pages  will  lay  the  book 
down  in  quite  as  good  condition,  mentally  and  physically,  as  when  they 
took  it  up,  and  that  some  information  as  to  European  life  will  result 
from  its  perusal.  As  I  make  no  promises  at  the  beginning  I  shall  have 
no  apologies  to  make  at  the  ending. 

It  is  only  justice  to  say  that  much  of  the  descriptive  matter  is  the 
work  of  Mr.  Robinson  Locke,  who  was  with  me  every  minute  of  the 
time,  and  the  intelligent  reader  will  be  perfectly  safe  in  ascribing  the 
best  of  its  pages  to  his  pen. 

I  can  only  hope  that  this  work,  as  a  book,  will  meet  with  the  same 
measure  of  favor  that  the  material  did  as  newspaper  sketches. 

D.  E.  L. 

Toledo,  Ohio,  June  39,  1882. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


No.  Pagk 

1.  Frontispiece. 

2.  The  Departure 18 

3.  "Shuffle  Board  " 23 

'  4.     The  Betting  Young  Man  from  Chicago 24 

5.  "  Dear,  Sea-sickness  is  only  a  Feminine  Weakness," 27 

6.  Lemuel  Tibbitts,  from  Oshkosh,  Writes  a  Letter 29 

7.  Every  Sin  I  Had  Committed  Came  Before  Me 33 

8.  Off  for  London 35 

9.  Public  Buildings,  London 36 

10.  The  Indian  Policy 39 

11.  The  Emetic  Policy 39 

12.  A  London  Street  Scene 45 

13.  A  London  Steak 50 

14.  *'  And  is  the  Them  Shanghais ?  " 53 

15.  Sol.  Carpenter  and  the  Race  60 

16.  Leaving  for  the  Derby 62 

17.  By  the  Roadside 64 

18.  English  Negro  Minstrelsy 66 

19.  The  Roadside  Repast 67 

20.  The  Betting  Ring 73 

21.  "  D n  the  Swindling  Scoundrel  " 74 

22.  Egyptian  Room,  British  Museum 76 

23.  A  Bold  Briton  Trying  the  American  Custom 79 

24.  A  London  Gin  Drinking  Woman 80 

25.  The  Poor  Man  is  Sick 81 

26.  "  That  Nigger  is  Mine  " 82 

27.  St.  Thomas  Hospital .• 92 

28.  Interior  of  a  Variety  Hall 95 

29.  The  Magic  Purse 98 

30.  The  Man  who  was  Music  Proof 100 

31*    Madame  Tussaud 102 

32.  Wax  Figures  of  Americans 103 

33.  "  Digging  Corpses  is  all  Wrong  " 105 

34.  Improved  Process  of  Burke  and  Hare 106 

35.  Isle  of  Wight 107 

36.  The  London  Lawyer 110 

37.  The  Old  English  Way  of  Procuring  a  Loan 118 

38.  "  Beware  of  Fraudulent  Imitations  " 120 

39.  The  Old  Temple  Bar 122 

40.  The  Sidewalk  Shoe  Store 125 

41.  '•  Sheap  Clodink  " 127 

42.  "Dake  Dot  Ring" 133 

43.  A  Lane  in  Camberwell 135 

44.  The  Tower  of  London 136 

45.  The  Jewel  Tower 140 

46.  Sir  Magnus'  Men 142 

47.  Horse  Armory 144 

48.  St.  John's  Chapel 145 

(Vii) 


Vlll  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

No.  Page 

49.  St.  Thomas'  Tower 146 

50.  General  View  of  the  Tower 147 

51.  The  Bloody  Tower 148 

52.  Drowning  of  Clarence  in  a  Butt  of  Wine 149 

53.  The  Byward  Tower  from  the  East 150 

54.  The  Beauchamp  Tower 151 

55.  The  Overworked  Headsman 152 

56.  The  Persuasive  Rack 153 

57.  The  Byward  Tower  from  the  West 154 

58.  The  Middle  Tower 155 

59.  The  Beef  Eater 156 

60.  The  Fhnt  Tower 157 

61.  The  Traitor's  Gate 158 

62.  What  Shall  We  Do  with  Sir  Thomas? 159 

63.  The  Easiest  Way 160 

64.  The  Suits  Come  Home 163 

65.  The  Candle  Episode 168 

66.  The  Little  Bill 169 

67.  Getting  Ready  to  Leave  a  Hotel 169 

68.  The  Last  Straw 170 

69.  The  Cabman  Tipped 170 

70.  The  Universal  Demand 171 

71.  The  Lord  Mayor's  Show 173 

72.  A  Second  Hand  Debauch 175 

78.     The  Anniversary  Ceremonies 178 

74.  Iq  the  Harbor 179 

75.  IsleofWight  182 

76.  The  Unfinished  Entries  in  the  Diary 184 

77.  Westminster  Abbey 186 

78.  Exterior  of  the  Abbey 187 

79.  Entrance  to  the  Abbey 188 

80.  The  Poet's  Corner 191 

81.  Henry  VII. 's  Chapel 193 

82.  Chapel  of  Edward 197 

83.  Effigy  Room 200 

84.  The  Abbey  in  Queen  Anne's  Time 201 

85.  "  If  She  Ever  Miscalculates  She's  Gone," 204 

86.  The  Death  of  the  Trainer 206 

87.  The  Gorgeous  Funeral  Procession 207 

88.  Monument  to  the  Trainer 208 

89.  The  Side  Show  Zulu 210 

90.  The  Lost  Finger 212 

91.  On  the  Thames 218 

92.  Sandwiches  at  New  Haven 222 

93.  Off  Dieppe— Four  A.  M 224 

94.  "  Have  You  Tobacco  or  Spirits  ?" 225 

9>.     Fisher  Folk— Dieppe 227 

96.     Fisher  Women— Dieppe 228 

07.     Fisher  Bov  and  Child 229 

98.  The  Boys  of  Rouen 232 

99.  Rouen 233 

100.  The  Professor  Stood  Before  it 234 

101.  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame 235 

102.  House  of  Joan  d'  Arc 235 

103.  Harbor  of  Rouen 236 

104.  St.  Ouen— Rouen 238 

105.  The  Showman  in  Paris 240 

106.  Bloss'  Great  Moral  Spectacle 241 

107.  Tower  of  St.  Pierre 242 

108.  Old  Houses— Rouen 242 

109.  The  Professor's  Spectacles 245 


ILLUSTRATIONS.  IX 

No.  Page 

110.  Old  Paris 246 

111.  Liberty,  Fraternity,  Equality 247 

112.  New  Paris 248 

113.  The  Louvre 250 

114.  A  Boulevard  Cafe 252 

115.  A  Costume  by  Worth 253 

116.  A  Magazine  on  the  Boulevard 254 

117.  Mr.  Thompson's  Art  Purchases 256 

118.  The  American  Party  Outside  a  Cafe 259 

119.  The  Avenue  de  L'Opera 261 

120.  Cafe  Concerts 262 

121.  The  Faro  Bankeress 266 

122.  French  Soldiers 267 

123.  Parisian  Bread  Carriers 269 

124     Queer — to  Frenchmen 271 

125.  The  Porte  St.  Martin 272 

126.  A  Very  Polite  Frenchman 275 

127.  "  Merci,  Monsieur  !" 277 

128.  Paris  Underground 279 

129.  Interior  of  the  Paris  Bourse 280 

130.  The  Arc  du  Carrousel 282 

131.  "  How  Long  Must  I  Endure  This  ?" 285 

132.  Tail  Piece 286 

133.  The  Mother  of  the  Gamin  as  She  Was 288 

134.  The  Mother  of  the  Gamin  in  the  Sere  and  Yellow  Leaf 289 

135.  The  Aged  Stump  Gatherer 290 

136.  A  Talk  with  a  Gamin 294 

137.  The  Mabille  at  Night 305 

138.  A  Mabille  Divinity 306 

139.  Professionals  in  a  Quadrille 309 

140.  A  Male  Dancer 310 

141.  The  Grisette 311 

142.  Meeting  of  Tibbitts  and  the  Professor 314 

443.     The  Cafe 'Swell 316 

144.  Tail  Piece 318 

145.  Beauvais  Cathedral. 319 

146.  Struggle  for  the  Kingship 322 

147.  Of  the  Commune 326 

148.  Tibbitts  and  Faro  Bankeress 330 

149.  Tail  Piece 331 

150.  Palais  Royal 333 

151.  Vision  of  the  Commune 335 

152.  Mother  and  Bonne ' 337 

153.  The  Youthful  Bonne 338 

154.  The  Aged  Bonne 338 

155.  "  Who  Put  that  Ribbon  in  your  Cap?" 345 

156.  Corrective  Used  by  Mr.  Tibbitts 348 

157.  The  Coco  Seller 349 

158.  In  Any  of  the  Parks 358 

159.  The  No-Legged  Beggar  Woman 360 

160.  How  the  French  Sport  Kills  Game 362 

161.  Fishing  in  the  Seine 363 

162.  Inside  a  Paris  Omnibus 364 

163.  The  Showman  Shown  the  Door 365 

164.  The  Tell  Catastrophe 368 

165.  Zoological  Room 369 

166.  Cork  Harbor 370 

167.  Queenstown 371 

168.  Irish  Woman  and  Daughter 375 

169.  A  County  Cork  Cabin 377 

170.  Interior  of  Better  Class  Cabin 378 


X  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

No.  '                    Page 

171.  Royal  Irish  Constabulary 379 

172.  Interior  of  Cabin 380 

173.  A  Quiver  Full 381 

174.  Street  in  an  Irish  Village 384 

175.  Blarney  Castle 385 

176.  Free  Speech  in  Ireland 387 

177.  In  a  Bog  Village 389 

178.  "Drop  the  Child  !" 391 

179.  Nature's  Looking  Glass 393 

180.  Irishman  of  the  Stage  and  Novel , 394 

181.  The  Evicted  Irishman 395 

182.  To  Market  and  Back 396 

183.  The  Real  Irish  Girl 397 

184.  A  Small  but  Well-to-do  Farmer 398 

185.  Sketches  in  Gal  way 402 

186.  Affixing  Notice  of  Eviction 406 

187.  Eviction 407 

188.  The  Eviction  we  Saw 408 

189.  Evicted 409 

190.  Farming  in  County  Mayo 410 

191.  My  Lord's  Agent 413 

192.  Kind  of  a  Girl  My  Lord  Wants 414 

193.  The  Woman  who  Paid  the  Poor  Rate 416 

194.  Conemara  Women • 418 

195.  At  Work  in  the  Bog 420 

196.  Duke  Leinster's  Tenants 422 

197.  Tenant  Farmer 424 

198.  In  a  Discontented  District 4<i6 

199.  Protecting  a  Gentleman  Farmer 427 

200.  Filling  the  Ditch 429 

201.  Ready  for  Emigration 431 

202.  Old  but  Tolerably  Cheerful , 433 

203.  After  a  Wholesale  Eviction 435 

204.  The  "  Faymale  Painther  " ; 436 

205.  Old  and  Not  Cheerful 438 

206.  The  Proper  End  of  Royalty 441 

207.  Meath  Lads  at  Crossakeel 443 

208.  A  Mayo  Farmer 445 

209.  Mayo  Peasantry 447 

210.  Inhabitants  of  a  Bog  Village 449 

211.  Dublin 452 

212.  They  Glared  Ferociouslv -. 456 

213.  Bog  Village ' 459 

214.  Interior  French  Car 462 

215.  They  were  Lively  Children 464 

216.  Geneva 466 

217.  'Your  Hotel  is  a  Swindle,  Sir" 474 

218.  Group  of  Swiss  Girls 480 

219.  The  Sweat  of  Other  Men's  Brows 481 

220.  The  Alpine  Guide. 485 

221.  A  Non- Professional  Lady  Tourist : 487 

222.  Young  Man  with  Inopportune  Remarks 493 

223.  "  Would  You  Oblige  Me  ?" 495 

224.  "  See  Me  Unmask  this  Jew  " 497 

225.  Swiss  Timber  Village 501 

226.  The  Slender  Bridge 503 

227.  A  Bit  of  Climbing 504 

228.  Where  the  Maiden  Leaped  From. 511 

229.  The  Chamois 513 

230.  Taking  the  Cattle  to  the  Mountains 513 

231.  Outside  the  Chalet 515 


ILLUSTRATIONS.  XI 

No.  Page 

232.  Inside  the  Chalet 516 

233.  An  Alpine  Homestead 519 

234.  "  I  Should  Wake  Them  Cheerily  " 520 

235.  On  the  Road  to  Chamonix 525 

236.  The  Presumed  Chamois  Hunter 530 

237.  The  Fate  of  Two  Englishmen 532 

438.     A  Frequent  Accident 533 

239.  The  Mer  De  Glace 534 

240.  A  Slip  Toward  the  Edge ,  535 

241.  Crevasses '. 536 

242.  The  Moraine..    ._ 537 

243.  The  Dilemma 538 

244.  Rocks  Polished  by  Old  Glaciers 539 

245.  The  Path  to  the  Village 548 

246.  Mt.  Blanc  and  Valley  of  Chamonix 550 

247.  The  Conscientious  Barber 555 

248.  The  Jungfrau 557 

249.  Wood  Carving 559 

250.  Home  of  the  Carver 560 

251.  Female  Costumes 562 

252.  Our  Party  at  the  Giessbach 565 

253 .  Peasants  of  East  Switzerland 567 

254.  Near  Brienz 568 

255.  Lion  of  Lucerne 570 

256.  End  of  Pontius  Pilate * 573 

257.  Lucerne  Rigi-Rail 575 

258.  Ditto  from  Kanzell 576 

259.  Old  Way  of  Ascending  Rigi 578 

260.  Night  Ascent  of  Rigi 579 

261.  Railway  up  the  Rigi 581 

263.     Rigi  Railway 582 

263.  Railway  up  the  Mountain 583 

264.  Tell's  Chapel 584 

265.  Tibbitts  in  Concert  Hall 589 

266.  Entrance  Strasburg  Cathedral 593 

267.  Pig  Market,  Strasburg 596 

268.  The  Great  Hall 606 

269.  Tibbitts  Making  Plain  the  Point 608 

270.  Front  of  the  Kursale 612 

271.  The  Swimming  Bath 614 

272.  The  Donkey  Enjoyed  It 616 

273.  The  Lichtenthal 617 

274.  Promenade  in  Baden  Baden 618 

275.  Charcoal  Burners,  Black  Forest 619 

276.  Heidelberg  Castle 623 

277.  Heidelberg  Tun 626 

278.  Tibbitts  and  the  Students 629 

279.  Rhine  Steamer 630 

280.  Mannheim 631 

281.  Tibbitts  in  the  Cloak  Room 633 

282.  Mayence 639 

283.  Erchenheim  Tower 640 

284.  Roemer 640 

285.  Luther's  Home 640 

284.  Street  on  the  Roemerberg 642 

285.  The  Jews' Street 644 

286.  "  Der  Hmd  Leg  of  a  Helty  Mule  " 649 

287.  Cologne  Cathedral 651 

288.  Death  of  Bishop  Hatto ; 655 

289.  Legend  of  the  Cathedral 668 


/ 


CONTENTS 


Paue 
CHAPTER  I. 

The  Departure  —  How  the  Passengers  Amused  Themselves  —  Sea-sick 

ness— Tibbitts,  of  Oshkosh— The  Storm 17-  35  • 

CHAPTER  II. 

London  — The  EngKshman  — A  Few  Statistics  —  The  Climate  — A  Red- 
coated  Romance 18-  57 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  Derby  Races — Departure  for  the  Derby— Sights  and  Scenes — Shows 
and  Beggars — Betting 58-  76 

CHAPTER  IV. 

What  the  Londoners  Quench  their  Thirst  with — The  Kind  of  Liquor — 
Tobacco— Early  Closing 77-90 

CHAPTER  V. 

How  London  is  Amused — The  London  Theaters — An  English  Idea  of  a 
Good  Time— Punch  and  Judy 91-100 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Madame  Tussaud — American  Worthies 101-107 

CHAPTER  VII. 
The  London  Lawyer— The  Solicitor's  Bill 108-112 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
English  Capital— London  Quacks — The  London  Advertiser 113-122 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Petticoat  Lane — The  Home  of  Second-Hand — The  Clothing  Dealer — 
Diamonds— The  Confiding  Israelite 123-134 

(xii) 


CONTENTS.  Xlll 

Page 
CHAPTER  X. 

The  Tower — The  Eoyal  Jewels — The  Horse  Armory — Interesting  Relics 
—The  Beef-Eaters. 137-160 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Two  English  Nuisances — A  Badly  Dressed  People — An  English  Hotel — 
The  English  Landlord 161-1 72 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Portsmouth— Nelson's  Ship— In  the  Harbor— Tibbitts'  Diary 174-185 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Westminster  Abbey — Seeing  the  Abbey — Warren  Hastings — Epitaphs — 
Religious  Service — A  Little  History 187-20'^ 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
The  American  Showman — The  Trainer's  Widow-Foggerty  the  Zulu,  203-212 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Richmond — The  Star  and  Garter — Down  the  River 213-219 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

From  London  to  Paris  —  The  Custom  House  —  Normandy — The  Cath- 
edral—On the  Way  to  Paris 221-242 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  Scattering  View  of  Paris — Drinking  in  Paris — Wine   and  Whisky — 

The  National  Fete 243-267 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Something  About  Parisians— French  Cleanliness — The  Polite  French — 

The  Disgust  of  Tibbitts 268-286 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Parisian  Gamin  —  Interview  with  a  Gamin — A  Contented  Being. .  .287-299 

« 

CHAPTER  XX. 

How  Paris  Amuses  Itself — The  Grand  Opera — The  Wicked  Mabille— 
Gardens  other  than  the  Mabille — Tibbitts  and  the  Professor 300-318 

CHAPTER  XXL 
The  Louvre — Art  in  the  Louvre — The  Commune 320-331 

CHAPTER  XXII 

The  Palais-Royal — A  Tale  of  the  Commune — The  Wisdom  of  Therese — 
The  Two  Lovers 332-345 


XIV  CONTENTS.  ^ 

PA6E 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
French  Drinking— The  Water  of  Paris— The  Mild  Swasli 346-351 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Parisian  Living — The  Market  Woman  —  Parisian  Washing  —  Female 
Shop-keepers— The  Career  of  Sam 852-369 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
.Ireland — Cork — The  Jaunting  Car— Another  Cabin    370-383 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Bantry — How  My  Lord  Bantiy  Lives — The  Real  and  the  Ideal — Several 

Delusions — The  Conversioii  of  an  Irish  Lad}'^ 384-401 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

An  Irish  Mass  Meeting — An  Evictions-Boycotting— One  Landlord  who 
was  Killed— How  he  was  killed — Patsey's  Dead 403-518 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Some  Little  History — The  Question  of  Lease — A  Foiled  Landlord — 

Bantry  Village — The  Boatman  and  Nancy 419-438 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

England,    Ireland,    Scotland — Land  Troubles  in  England— The  Royal 

Family — The  Palace  and  the  Workhouse — W^omen's  Work 439-460 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

Paris  to  Geneva — A  Night  on  the  Rail— Geneva— Affecting  Anecdote — 

Piracy  on  Lake  Erie— The  Irate  Guest— Too  Much  Music 461-477 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Switzerland — The  Rhone— A  Geneva   Bakery— Swiss  Roads — Female 
Climbers — Ascent  of  Mont  Blanc— A  Useful  Man  at  Last 478-491 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
Chillon— Tibbitts  and  the  Jew— On  the  Lake 493-501 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

From    Geneva  over  the   Alps— Mountain    Climbing— Legend   of    the 

Gorge— Martigny  -A  Swiss  Cottage— Alpine  Ascents. 5U2-517 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
Over  the  Alps — Tibbitts'  Idea — Dangers  of  Ascending  Mt.  Blanc. .  .518-529 


CONTENTS.  XV 

Page 
CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Going  up  the  Mountain — The  Mer  de  Glace— The  Gorge— Something 
About  Glaciers 530-545 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
In  Switzerland — Tibbitts'  Letter — Berne  and  Bears— Barbers 546-555 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
Lake  Thun  and  Beyond — Interlaken — Wood  Carving— Geissbach . . .  556-568 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Lucerne  and  the  Rigi — Up  the  Rigi — A  Mountain  Railway — The  Rigi 
Kulm— Tell's  Chapel 569-587 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Zurich  and  Strasburg — Beer  and  Music — The  Cathedral— The  Won- 
derful Clock 588-604 

CHAPTER  XL. 
Baden-Baden— A  Few  Legends— Up  the  Mountain— To  old  Schloss. 605-621 

CHAPTER  XLI. 
Heidelberg— The  Great  Cask— The  Students 622-630 

CHAPTER  XLII. 
Mannheim— Opera— A  Treatise  on  Treating 631-639 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 
Frankfort-on-the-Maine- Red  Tape— Jews'  Street— Lovely  Gardens .  640-651 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 
Down  the  Rhine— Bingen— Mouse  Tower— Tibbitts'  Romance. ....  .652-663 

CHAPTER  XLV. 
Cologne -The  Cathedral— Eleven  Thousand  Virgins— Home 664-672 


TO 

The  ''Poetical  Bookseller,''' 

This  hook  is  dedicated  (without  permission) 

as  a 

Tribute  to  a  most  Reliable  Friend, 

a  Thorough  Business  Man,  and 

One  whose  steady  devotion  to  everything  right  and  proper, 

and  whose 

hatred  for  everythiiig  mean  and  disreputable, 

was  never  questioned  by  any  one 

who  knew  him. 


i- 


NASBY  IN  EXILE, 


CHAPTEE  I. 


"Cast  Off!" 
There  was  a 
bustle,  a  move- 
ment of  fifty 
men,  a  rush,  of 
people  to  the 
gangways;  hur- 
ried good-bys 
were  said;  an- 
other rush,  as- 
sisted by  the 
fifty  men,  the 
enormousgang- 
ways  were 
lifted,  there 
was  a  throb  of 
steam, a  mighty 
jar  of  machin- 
ery, a  t  r  e  m  o  r 
along  the  line 
of  the  vast  body 
of  wood  and 
iron,  and  the 
good  ship  "City 
of  Kichmond" 
was  out  at  sea. 

I  am  not  going  to  inflict  upon  the  reader  a  description  of 
the  harbor  of  ISTew  York,  or  anything  of  the  kind.  The  whole 
world  knows  that  it  is  the  finest  in  the  world,  and  every  Ameri- 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


IS^'',  4  i^ifj^'^l"'' ,:      :      NAt^SY   IN    EXILE. 


"•)  1 


can  would  believe  it  so,  whether  it  is  so  or  not.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  the  ship  got  out  of  the  harbor  safely,  and  before 
nightfall  was  upon  the  broad  Atlantic,  out  of  the  way  of 
telegraph  and  mail  facilities,  and  one  hundred  and  fifty-six 
saloon  passengers  —  men,  women,  and  children  —  found  them- 
selves beyond  the  reach  of  daily  papers,  though  they  had 
everything  else  that  pertains  to  civilization  and  luxury. 

A  voyage  at  sea  is  not  what  it  was  when  first  I  sailed 
from  —  but  no,  I  have  never  been  abroad  before,  and  have  not, 
therefore,  the  privilege  of  lying  about  travel.  That  will  come 
in  time,  and  doubtless  I  shall  use  it  as  others,  do.  But  I  was 
going  to  say  that  sailing  is  not  what  it  was,  as  I  understand 
it  to  have  been.  The  ship  of  to-day  is  nothing  more  or  less 
than  a  floating  hotel,  with  some  few  of  the  conveniences 
omitted,  and  a  great  many  conveniences  that  hotels  on  shore 
have  not.  You  have  your  luxurious  barber-shop,  you  have  a 
gorgeous  bar,  you  have  hot  and  cold  water  in  your  room,  and 
a  table  as  good  as  the  best  in  'New  York.  You  eat,  drink, 
and  sleep  just  as  well,  if  not  better,  than  on  shore. 

The  sailor  is  no  more  what  he  used  to  be  than  the  ship  is.  I 
liave  seen  any  number  of  sailors,  and  know  all  about  them.  The 
tight  young  fellow  in  blue  jacket  and  shiny  tarpaulin,  and 
equally  shiny  belt,  and  white  trousers,  the  latter  enormously 
wide  at  the  bottom,  which  trousers  he  was  always  hitching  up 
with  a  very  peculiar  movement  of  the  body,  standing  first 
upon  one  leg  and  then  upon  the  other ;  the  sailor  who  could 
fight  three  pirates  at  once  and  kill  them  all,  finishing  the  last 
one  by  disabling  his  starboard  eye  with  a  chew  of  tobacco 
thrown  with  terrible  precision ;  who,  if  an  English  sailor,  was 
always  a  match  for  three  Frenchmen,  if  an  American  a  match 
for  three  Englishmen,  and  no  matter  of  what  nationality,  was 
always  ready  to  d — n  the  eyes  of  the  man  he  did  not  like,  and 
protect  prepossessing  females  and  oppressed  children  even  at 
the  risk  of  being  hung  at  the  yard-arm  by  a  court-martial  — 
this  kind  of  a  sailor  is  gone,  and  I  fear  forever.  I  know  I 
have  given  a  proper  description  of  him,  for  I  have  seen  hun- 
dreds of  them  —  at  the  theater. 

In  his  stead  is  an  unpoetic  being,  clad  in  all  sorts  of 
unpoetic  clothing,  and  no  two  of  them  alike.     There  is  a  faint 


WHO   WEKE    ON    BOARD.  19 

effort  at  uniformity  in  their  caps,  which  have  sometimes  the 
name  of  their  ship  on  them,  but  even  that  not  always. 
In  fair  weather  he  is  in  appearance  very  like  a  hod 
carrier,  and  in  foul  weather  a  'New  York  drayman.  He 
does  n't  d — n  anybody's  eyes,  and  he  does  n't  sing  out  "  Belay 
there,"  or  "  Avast,  you  lubber,"  or  indulge  in  any  other  nauti- 
cal expressions.  He  uses  just  about  the  language  that  people 
on  shore  do,  and  is  as  dull  and  uninteresting  a  person  as  one 
would  wish  not  to  meet. 

The  traditional  jack  tar,  of  whom  the  Dibden  of  the  last 
century  sang,  only  remains  in  "  Pinafore  "  opera,  and  can  only 
be  seen  when  the  nautical  pieces  of  the  thirty  years  ago  are 
revived.  If  such  sailors  ever  existed,  off  the  stage,  they  are  as 
extinct  a  race  as  the  icthyosaurus.  Steam  has  knocked  the 
poetry  out  of  navigation,  as  it  has  out  of  everything  else  — 
that  is,  that  kind  of  poetry.  It  will  doubtless  have  a  poetry 
of  its  own,  when  its  gets  older,  but  it  is  too  new  yet. 

There  is  no  holystoning  the  decks.  On  the  contrary  the 
decks  are  washed  with  hose,  and  scrubbed  afterward  by  a 
patent  appliance,  which  has  nothing  of  the  old  time  about  it. 
The  lifting  is  done  by  steam,  and  in  fact  every  blessed  thing 
about  the  ship  is  done  by  machinery.  There  is  neither  a  ship 
nor  a  sailor  any  more.  There  are  floating  hotels,  and  help. 
The  last  remaining  show  for  a  ship  is  the  masts  and  sails  they 
all  have,  and  they  seem  to  be  more  for  ornament  than  use. 

The  company  on  board  was,  on  the  whole,  monotonous. 
Ocean  travel  is  either  monotonous  or  dangerous.  Its  principal 
advantage  over  land  travel  is,  the  track  is  not  dusty. 

'  We  had  on  our  passenger  list  precisely  the  usual  people, 
and  none  others.  There  were  three  Jews  of  different  types : 
the  strong,  robust,  eagle-nosed  and  eagle-eyed  German  Jew^, 
resident  of  New  York,  going  abroad  on  business ;  the  keen 
French  Jew,  returning  from  a  successful  foray  on  New  York 
jewelers,  and  the  Southern  Jew,  who,  having  made  a  fortune 
in  cotton,  attached  no  value  to  anything  else. 

I  like  the  Jews,  and  ten  days  with  them  did  not  lessen  my 
liking.  They  know  something  for  certain;  they  do  things, 
and  they  do  well  what  they  do. 

There  was  a  Chicago  operator  in  mining  stocks,  going 


20  NASBY   IN    EXILE.  ^ 

abroad  to  place  the  "  Great  Mastodon"  in  London.  There  was 
the  smooth-chinned,  side- whiskered  minister,  or  "  priest,"  as  he 
delighted  in  calling  himself,  of  the  Church  of  England,  going 
home,  and  a  fiery  Welsh  Baptist  who  had  been  laboring  in 
the  States  for  many  years. 

On  Sunday  evening  the  Chicago  man  and  a  Texan  engaged 
the  English  minister  in  a  discussion  on  the  evidences  of  Chris- 
tianity. It  was  a  furious  controversy,  and  an  amusing  one. 
The  Welsh  Baptist  was  a  more  zealous  Christian  than  the 
Church  of  England  man,  and  he  did  by  far  the  best  part  of 
the  argument;  but  the  priest,  by  look  at  least,  resented  his 
interference.  Being  a  Baptist,  he  was  entirely  irregular,  and 
did  not  hold  up  his  end  of  the  argument  regularly.  The 
priest  regarded  the  evangelist  as  a  regular  soldier  might  a 
guerilla  serving  the  same  side.  The  discussion  embraced  every 
point  that  religionists  aifirjm  and  infidels  deny,  commencing 
with  the  creation  and  coming  down  to  the  present  day,  with 
long  excursions  into  the  future. 

A  terrible  disaster  was  the  result.  The  next  morning  the 
priest  met  the  infidel  on  deck,  and  extended  his  hand  humbly : 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "I  have  been  thinking  over  the 
matter  we  discussed  last  night.  I  am  convinced  that  you  are 
right,  and  that — " 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  infidel.  "My  dear  sir,  I  was  look- 
ing for  you.  Your  forcible  and  convincing  statements  satisfy 
me  that  there  is  truth  in  the  Christian  religion,  and — " 

Neither  said  more.  The  priest  had  converted  the  infidel 
to  Christianity,  and  the  infidel  had  converted  the  priest  to 
infidelity.  So  far  as  the  result  upon  the  religion  of  the  world 
was  concerned,  it  was  a  stand-off. 

The  days  were  devoted  to  all  sorts  of  occupations.  There 
were  young  men  spooning  young  women,  and  young  women 
who  made  a  business  of  flirtation,  or  what  was  akin  to  it. 
One  young  lady  who  could  be  seen  at  any  time  in  the  day,  in 
a  most  bewitching  attitude,  reclining  on  a  steamer  chair,  pic- 
turesque in  all  sorts  of  wraps,  held  a  brief  conversation  with 
her  mother,  who  had  hooked  a  widower  the  second  day  out. 
The  mother  was  skillful  at  looking  young,  and  compelled  her 
child,  therefore,  to  be  juvenile  and  shy  of  young  men. 


HOW   THE   PASSENGERS    AMUSED   THEMSELVES.  21 

"  Helen,  you  were  flirting  with  that  Chicago  young  man, 
this  morning!" 

"Flirting!  Mamma!  It's  too  mean!  You  won't  let  me 
flirt.  I  havn't  enjoyed  myself  a  minute  since  we  sailed.  I 
wish  you  would  let  me  alone  to  do  as  I  please." 

The  poor  child  envied  her  mother,  and  with  good  reason, 
for  within  ten  minutes  she  was  under  the  wing,  or  arm,  of  the 
widower,  looking  not  a  minute  over  thirty-five. 

There  were  old  maids  who  found  themselves  objects  of 
attention  for  the  first  time  for  years ;  there  were  widows  who 
grew  sentimental  looking  at  the  changing  waters,  especially  at 
night  when  the  moon  and  stars  were  out ;  there  were  married 
men  whose  wives  were  many  leagues  away,  determined  to 
have  a  good  time  once  more,  flirting  with  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  women,  and  there  were  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
women  flirting  hungrily  with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men. 
There  were  speculators  driving  bargains  with  each  other  just 
the  same  as  on  land — in  brief,  the  ship  was  a  little  world  by 
itself,  and  just  about  the  same  as  any  other  world. 

In  the  smoking  room  the  great  and  muscular  American 
game  of  draw  poker  was  played  incessantly,  from  early  in  the 
morning,  till  late  in  the  night. 

A  portion  of  the  passengers,  including  the  English  dominie, 
played  a  game  called  "  shuffle-board."  Squares  were  marked 
upon  the  deck,  which  were  numbered  from  one  to  seven.  Then 
some  distance  from  the  squares  a  line  was  drawn,  and  what 
you  had  to  do  was  to  take  an  implement  shaped  like  a  crutch, 
and  shove  discs  of  wood  at  the  squares.  We  all  played  it, 
sooner  or  later,  for  on  ship-board  one  will  get,  in  time,  to  play- 
ing pin  alone  in  his  room.  The  beauty  about  shuffle-board  is, 
one  player  is  as  good  as  another,  if  not  better,  for  there  isn't 
the  slightest  skill  to  be  displayed  in  it.  Indeed,  the  best  play- 
ing is  always  done  at  first,  when  the  player  shoots  entirely  at 
random.  There  is  a  chance  that  he  will  strike  a  square,  then ; 
but  when  one  gets  to  calculating  distances,  and  looking  know- 
ingly, and  attempting  some  particular  square,  the  chances  are 
even  that  the  disc  goes  overboard. 

However,  it  is  a  good  and  useful  game.  The  young  ladies 
look  well  handling  the  clumsy  cues,  and  the  attitudes  they 


22 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


are  compelled  to  take  are  graceful.  Then  as  the  vessel  lurches 
they  fall  naturally  in  your  arms.  By  the  way,  it  is  a  curious 
fact  and  one  worthy  of  record,  that  I  did  not  see  a  young  lady 
fall  into  the  arms  of  another  young  lady  during  the  entire 
voyage. 

We  had  on  board,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  betting  young 
man  from  Chicago.     I^o  steamer  ever  sailed  that  did  not  have 

this  young  fellow  aboard,  and  there  is 
enough  of  them  to  last  the  Atlantic 
for  a  great  many  years.  He  knew 
everything  that  everybody  thinks 
they  know,  but  do  not,  and  his  delight 
was  to  propound  a  query,  and  then 
when  you  had  answered  it,  to  very 
coolly  and  exasperatingly  remark : — 

"Bet  yer  bottle  of  Avine  you're 
wrong." 

The  matter  would  be  so  simple 
and  one  of  so  common  repute  that 
immediately  you  accepted  the  wager 
only  to  find  that  in  some  minute  par- 
ticular, you  were  wrong,  and  that  the 
knowing  youth  had  won. 
For  instance : — 

"  Thompson,  do    you    know  how 
many  States  there  are  in  the  Union  ? " 
I^ow  any  citizen   of    the    United 
States  who  votes,  and  is   eligible  to 
the  Presidency,  ought  to  know  how 
many  States  there  are  in  his  beloved 
country  without   thinking,    but    how 
many  are  there  who  can  say,  off-hand  ? 
And  so  poor  Thompson  answered  : — 
"  What  a  question !     Of  course  I  know." 
"  Bet  ye  bottle  ye  don't ! " 
"Done.     There  are  —  " 

And  then  Thompson  would  find  himself  figuring  the  very 
important  problem  as  to  whether  Colorado  had  been  admitted, 
and  Nevada,  and  Oregon,  and  he  would  decide  that  one  had 


SHUFFLE    BOARD. 


THE  YOUNG  MAN  FROM  CHICAGO.  23 

and  the  other  had  n't,  and  finally  state  the  number,  with  great 
certainty  that  it  was  wrong. 

The  Chicago  man's  crowning  bet  occurred  the  last  day  out. 
The  smoking  room  was  tolerably  full,  as  were  the  occupants, 
and  everybody  was  bored,  as  everybody  is  on  the  last  day. 
The  Chicago  man  had  been  silent  for  an  hour,  when  suddenly 
he  broke  out : 

"  Gentlemen — " 

"  Oh,  no  more  bets,"  was  the  exclamation  of  the  entire 
party.     "  Give  us  a  rest." 

"  I  don't  want  to  bet,  but  I  can  show  you  something 
curious." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  I  say  it  and  mean  it.  1  can  drink  a  glass  of  water  with- 
out  it's  going  down  my  throat." 

"And  get  it  into  your  stomach  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  There  was  a  silence  of  considerably  more  than  a  minute. 
Every  man  in  the  room  had  been  victimized  by  this  gatherer 
up  of  inconsidered  trifles,  and  there  was  a  general  disposition 
to  get  the  better  of  him  in  some  way  if  possible.  Here  was 
the  opportunity.  How  could  a  man  get  a  glass  of  water  into 
his  stomach  without  its  going  down  his  throat  ?  Impossible ! 
And  so  the  usual  bottle  of  wine  was  wagered,  and  the  Chicago 
man  proceeded  to  accomplish  the  supposed  impossible  feat.  It 
was  very  easily  done.  All  he  did  was  to  stand  upon  his  head 
on  the  seat  that  runs  around  the  room  and  swallow  a  glass  of 
water.  It  went  to  his  stomach,  but  it  did  not  go  down  his 
throat.  It  went  up  his  throat.  And  so  his  last  triumph  was 
greater  than  all  his  previous  ones,  for  every  man  in  the  room 
had  been  eager  to  accept  his  wager.  From  that  time  out  had 
he  offered  to  wager  that  he  would  swallow  his  own.  head  he 
would  have  got  no  takers. 

It  is  astonishing  how  short  remembrance  is,  and  how  the 
knowledge  of  one  decade  is  swallowed  up  in  the  increasing 
volume  of  the  next.  Every  one  of  the  catches  employed  by 
this  young  man  to  keep  himself  in  wine  and  cigars  were  well 
known  ten  years  ago,  but  totally  unknown  now  except  by  the 
few  who  use  them.     The  water  going  up  the  throat  instead  of 


24 


NASBY    m    EXILE. 


dowii  was  published  years  ago  in  a  small  volume  called  "  Hocus 
Pocus,"  and  it  sold  by  the  million,  but  nobody  knows  of  it  to- 
day=     I  once  asked  a  sharper  who  had  lived  thirty  years  by  the 


THE  BETTING  YOUNG  MAN  FROM  CHICAGO. 


practice  of  one  simple  trick,  how  it  happened  that  the  whole 
world  did  not  know  his  little  game  ? 

"  T3iere  are  new  crops  of  fools  coming  on  every  year,"  was 
his  answer.     He  was  ri^ht.     The  stock  will  never  run  out. 


SEA-SICKNESS.  25 

There  were  one  hundred  and  fifty-six  saloon  passengers  on 
board,  but  with  the  exception  of  those  mentioned,  a  distressing 
monotony  prevailed  among  them.  Never  was  so  good  a  set  of 
people  ever  gathered  together.  They  were  fearfully  good — too 
good  by  half. 

True  goodness  is  all  very  well  in  the  abstract,  but  there  is 
nothing  picturesque  about  it.  It  is  slightly  tame.  Your  brig- 
and, with  short  green  jacket  and  yellow  breeches,  with  blue 
or  green  garters,  and  a  tall  hat  with  a  feather  in  it,  is  a  much 
more  striking  being  than  a  Quaker  woman.  The  wicked  is 
always  the  startling,  and,  therefore,  taking  to  the  eye. 

On  our  ship  the  people  were  all  good.  There  wasn't  a 
pickpocket,  a  card  sharper,  or  anything  of  the  sort  to  vary  the 
monotony  of  life.  It  was  a  dead  level  of  goodness,  a  sort  of 
quiet  mill-pond  of  morality,  that  to  the  lover  of  excitement  was 
distressing  in  the  extreme.  The  card  parties  were  conducted 
decorously,  and  the  religious  services  in  the  grand  saloon  were 
attended  by  nearly  every  passenger,  and  what  is  more  they  all 
seemed  to  enjoy  it.  Possibly  it  was  because  religious  services 
were  a  novelty  to  the  most  of  them. 

The  second  day  out  was  a  very  rough  one.  The  wind 
freshened — I  think  that  is  the  proper  phrase — and  a  tremen- 
dously heavy  sea  was  on.  The  "  City  of  Kichmond  "  is  a  very 
staunch  ship,  and  behaves  herself  commendably  in  bad  weather, 
but  there  is  no  ship  that  can  resist  the  power  of  the  enormous 
waves  of  the  North  Atlantic.  Consequently  she  tossed  like  a 
cork,  and,  consequently,  there  was  an  amount  of  suffering  for 
two  days  that  was  amusing  to  everybody  but  the  sufferers. 

Sea-sickness  is  probably  the  most  distressing  of  all  the 
maladies  that  do  not  kill.  The  sickness  from  first  to  last  is  a 
taste  of  death.  The  resultant  vomiting  is  of  a  nature  totally 
different  from  any  other  variety  of  vomiting  known.  The 
victim  does  not  vomit — he  throws  up.  There  is  a  wild  legend 
that  one  man  in  a  severe  fit  of  sea-sickness  threw  up  his  boots, 
but  it  is  not  credible.  It  is  entirely  safe  to  say,  however, 
that  one  throws  up  everything  but  original  sin,  and  he  gives 
that  a  tolerable  trial. 

It  was  amusing  to  see  those  who  had  done  the  voyage 
before,  and  who  had   been  through  sea-sickness,  smile  upon 


26  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

those  who  were  in  the  throes  of  agony.  The  look  of  superi- 
ority they  took  on,  as  much  as  to  say, "  when  you  have  been 
through  it  as  I  have,  you  won't  have  it  any  more."  And  then 
to  see  these  same  fellows  turn  deadly  pale,  and  leave  their 
seats,  and  rush  to  their  rooms  and  disappear  from  mortal  view 
a  day  or  so,  was  refreshing  to  those  who  were  having  their 
first  experience. 

The  beauty  of  sea-sickness  is  that  you  may  have  it  every 
voyage,  which  is  fortunate,  as  having  a  tendency  to  restrain 
pride  and  keep  down  assumption  of  superiority ;  for  when  one 
has  to  suffer,  one  loves  to  see  everybody  else  suffer. 

One  man  aboard  did  not  think  it  possible  that  he  could  be 
sick,  and  he  was  rather  indignant  that  his  wife  should  be. 
She,  poor  thing,  was  in  the  agonies  of  death,  and  he  insisted, 
as  he  held  her  head,  that  she  ought  not  to  be  sick,  that  her 
giving  way  to  it  was  a  weakness  purely  feminine,  and  he  went 
on  wondering  why  a  woman  could  not — 

He  quit  talking  very  quickly.  The  strong  man  who  was 
not  a  woman,  turned  pale,  the  regular  paleness  that  denotes 
the  coming  of  the  malady,  and  dropping  the  head  he  had  been 
holding  so  patronizingly  with  no  more  compunction  than  as 
t/aough  it  had  been  his  pet  dog's,  rushed  to  the  side  of  the 
vessel,  and  there  paid  his  tribute  to  ISTeptune.  The  suffering 
yvite,  sick  as  she  Avas,  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  wreak 
a  trifle  of  feminine  vengeance  upon  him.  "  Dear,"  said  she, 
between  the  heaves  that  were  rending  her  in  several  twains, 
''  Sea-sickness  is.  only  a  feminine  weakness.  Oh — ugh — ugh — 
how  I  wish  I  were  a  strong  man !" 

There  is  one  good  thing  about  sea-sickness,  and  only  one : 
the  sufferer  cannot  possibly  have  any  other  disease  at  the  same 
time.  One  may  have  bronchitis  and  dyspepsia  at  once,  but 
sea-sickness  monopolizes  the  whole  body.  It  is  so  all-pervading ; 
it  is  such  a  giant  of  illness  that  there  is  room  for  nothing  else 
when  it  takes  possession  of  a  human  body. 

During  G-eneral  Butler's  occupancy  of  New  Orleans  a  fiery 
Kebel  Frenchman  was  inveighing  against  him  in  set  terms. 

"But  you  must  admit,"  said  a  loyal  E"ortherner,  "that 
during  General  Butler's  administration  your  city  was  free 
from  yellow  fever." 


THE    SHARP-NOSED   MAN. 


Vl 


"  Ze  yellow  f evair  and  General  Butlair  in  one  season  ?  Have 
ze  great  God  no  maircy,  zen  ?" 

A  kind  Providence  couldn't  possibly  saddle  sea-sickness  vrith 
any  other  ailment. 

Was  there  ever  a  ship  or  a  rail  car,  or  any  other  place 


DEAR—,   SEA-SICKNESS  IS  ONLY  — A  FEMININE  WEAKNESS.' 


where  danger  is  possible,  that  there  was  not  present  the  man 
with  a  sharp  nose,  slightly  red  at  the  tip,  whose  chief  delight 
seems  to  be  to  point  out  the  possibilities  of  all  sorts  of  disaster, 
and  to  do  it  in  the  most  friendly  way?  I  remember  once 
going  down  the  Hoosac  Tunnel  before  it  was  finished.      I 


28  NASBY    IN    EXILE.  ^ 

went  do\Yn,  not  because  I  wanted  to,  (indeed  I  would  have 
given  a  farm,  if  I  had  had  one,  to  have  avoided  it,)  but  it  was 
the  thing  to  do  there,  and  must  be  done.  So  with  about  the 
feeling  that  accompanied  John  Rogers  to  the  stake,  I  stepped, 
with  others,  upon  the  platform,  and  down  we  went.  It  was  a 
most  terrible  descent.  A  hole  in  the  ground  eighteen  hundred 
feet  deep,  and  a  platform,  suspended  by  a  single  rope !  In  my 
eyes  that  rope  was  not  larger  or  stronger  than  pack-thread. 

''  Is  this  safe?"  I  asked  of  the  sharp-nosed  man. 

"  Wa'all,  yes,  I  s'pose  so.  It  does  break  sometimes  —  did 
last  month  and  killed  eight  men.  I  guess  we  are  all  right, 
though  the  rope's  tollable  old  and  yest'dy  they  histed  out  a 
very  heavy  ingine  and  biler,  which  may  hev  strained  it.  Long 
ways  to  f aU  —  if  she  does  break  1 " 

Cheerful  suggestion  for  people  who  were  fifteen  hundred 
feet  from  the  bottom  and  could  n't  possibly  get  off. 

Another  time  on  the  Shore  Line  between  Boston  and  New 
York,  there  was  an  old  lady  who  had  never  been  upon  a  rail- 
road train  before,  and  who  was  exceedingly  nervous.  Behind 
her  sat  the  sharp-nosed  man  of  that  train,  who  answered  all 
her  questions. 

"Ya'as,  railroad  travelin'  is  dangerous.  Y'  see  they  git 
keerless.  Only  a  year  ago,  they  left  a  draw  opened,  and  a 
train  run  into  it,  and  mor'n  a  hundred  passengers  wuz 
drownded." 

"  Merciful  heavens !  "  ejaculated  the  old  lady,  in  an  agony 
of  horror.     "  We  do  n't  go  over  that  bridge." 

"  Yes  we  do,  and  we're  putty  nigh  to  it  now.  And  the 
men  are  jest  ez  keerless  now  ez  they  wuz  then.  They  git 
keerless.     I  never  travel  over  this  road  ef  I  kin  help  it." 

Then  he  went  on  and  told  her  of  every  accident  that  he 
could  remember,  especially  those  that  had  occurred  upon  that 
road. 

And  the  old  lady,  with  her  blood  frozen  by  the  horrible 
recitals,  sat  during  the  entire  trip  with  her  hands  grasping 
tightly  the  arms  of  her  seat,  expecting  momentarily  to  be 
hurled  from  the  track  and  torn  limb  from  limb,  or  to  be 
plunged  into  the  wild  waters  of  the  Sound. 

"We  had  the  sharp-nosed  man  with  us.     His  delight  was  to 


TIBBITTS,    OF    OSHKOSH. 


29 


take  timid  girls,  or  nervous  women,  and  explain  if  the  slight- 
est thing  should  get  wrong  with  the  machinery  how  we  should 
be  at  the  mercy  of  the  waves.  For  instance,  if  we  should  lose 
our  propeller  what  would 
happen?  Or  if  any  one  of 
the  boilers  should  explode, 
filling  the  ship  with  hot 
steam,  scalding  the  passen- 
gers, or  if  the  main  shaft 
should  break,  in  such  a  sea  as 
we  were  then  having,  or  if 
we  should  run  upon  an  ice- 
berg, or  collide  with  some 
floating  hulk  ? 

"  They  say  all  these  ships 
are  built  with  water-tight 
compartments.  Sho !  Stave 
in  one  part  of  the  ship  and 
it  must  go  down.  What  hap- 
pened to  the  '  City  of  Bos- 
ton?' Never heerd of .  'City 
of  Paris?'  Lost  half  her 
passengers.  But  we  must 
take  our  chances  if  we  will 
travel."  ~  ~-  """ 

LEMUEL    TIBBITTS,    FROM  NEAR  OSHKOSH, 

And  this  to  a  lot  of  peo-  Wisconsin,  writing  a  letter  to  his 
pie  who  had  never  been  at    mother, 

sea  before,  with  an  ugly  wind  blowing  and  a  tremendous  sea 
on.  Imagine  the  frame  of  mind  he  left  his  auditors  in,  and  he 
made  it  his  business,  day  after  day,  to  regale  the  very  timid 
ones  with  harrowing  histories  of  shipwrecks  and  disasters  at 
sea  till  their  blood  would  run  cold. 

Some  night  this  old  raven  will  be  lost  overboard,  but  there 
will  be  others  just  like  him  to  take  his  place.  Nature  dupli- 
cates her  monstrosities  as  well  as  her  good  things. 

Among  the  passengers  was  a  young  man  from  Oshkosh, 
Wisconsin,  named  Tibbitts.  He  was  an  excellent  young  man^ 
of  his  kind,  and  he  very  soon  acquired  the  reputation,  which 
he  deserved,  of  being  the  very  best  poker  player  on  the  ship. 


30  NASBY   IN    EXILE.  ^  « 

He  was  uneasy  till  a  game  was  organized  in  the  morning,  and 
he  growled  ferociously  when  the  lights  were  turned  down  at 
twelve  at  night.  He  was  impatient  with  slow  players,  because, 
as  he  said,  all  the  time  they  wasted  was  so  much  loss  to  him. 
He  could  drink  more  Scotch  whisky  than  any  one  on  the  ship, 
and  he  was  the  pet  of  the  entire  crew,  for  his  hand  was  always 
in  his  pocket.  He  ruined  the  rest  of  the  passengers  by  his 
reckless  liberality.  His  father  was  a  rich  Wisconsin  farmer, 
and  this  was  his  first  experience  in  travel. 

What  time  he  could  spare  from  poker  and  his  meals,  was 
devoted  to  writing  a  letter  to  his  mother,  for  whom  the  scape- 
grace did  seem  to  have  a  great  deal  of  respect  and  a  very  con- 
siderable  amount  of  love.  His  letter  was  finished  the  day 
before  we  made  Queen stown,  so  that  he  could  mail  it  from 
there.  He  read  it  to  me.  The  sentences  in  parenthesis  were 
his  comments : — 

On  Board  the  City  of  Richmond,        ) 
NEAR  QUEENSTOWN,  May  23,  1881.      ) 

Dear  Mother  : — While  there  is  everything  to  interest  one  from  the  inte- 
rior in  a  sea  voyage,  I  confess  that  I  have  not  enjoyed  the  passage  at  all.  I 
have  no  heart  for  it  for  my  mind  is  perpetually  on  you  and  my  home  in  the 
far  West.  ( You  see  it  will  please  tJie  old  lady  to  know  I  am  thinking  of  Iter  all 
the  time.  Didn't  I  scoop  in  that  jack  pot  nicely  last  evening  ?  Hadn't  a  thing 
in  my  hand,  and  Filkins  actually  opened  it  with  three  deuces.)  The  ship 
is  one  of  the  strongest  and  best  on  the  ocean,  and  is  commanded  and 
manned  by  the  best  sailors  on  the  sea.  The  passengers  are  all  good,  serious 
people,  with  perhaps  one  exception.  There  is  one  young  man  from  New 
York  of  dissolute  habits,  who  has  a  bottle  of  whisky  in  his  room,  and  who 
actually  tried  to  tempt  me  to  play  cards  with  him.  But  he  is  known  and 
avoided  by  the  entire  company. 

We  have  regular  services  in  the  grand  saloon,  every  morning,  and  occa- 
sional meetings  for  vocal  exercises  and  conversation  at  other  hours.  I  have 
just  come  from  one,  at  which — 

"  You  are  not  going  to  send  this  infernal  aggregation  of 
lies  to  your  mother,  are  you  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Why  not  ? "  She  don't  know  any  better,  and  it  will  make 
her  feel  good.  I  have  my  opinion  of  a  man  who  won't  give 
his  old  mother  a  pleasure  when  he  can  just  as  well  as  not.  I 
will,  you  bet  ? " 

"  But  such  atrocious  lies !  " 

"  I'll  chance  that.     I  can  stand  lies  of  that  kind  when  they 


31 

are  told  in  so  good  a  cause.     I  love  my  mother,  I  do.     Let's 
see,  where  was  I  ?     Oh  yes." 

I  have  just  come  from  one  at  which  the  discussion  was  mostly  on  the 
progress  of  missions  in  the  Far  West.  {The  old  lady  is  Treasurer  of  a 
society  for  tlie  conversion  of  the  Apaches,  or  some  other  tribe.)  Just  now 
the  sailors  are  heaving  a  log,  which  they  do  to  ascertain  the  speed  the 
ship  is  making.  Mr.  Inman,  the  owner  of  this  ship,  is  a  very  wealthy  man. 
and  he  has  everything  of  the  best.  He  furnishes  his  vessel  with  nothing 
but  black  walnut  logs  to  heave,  while  the  others  use  pine  or  poplar.  Cap- 
tain Leitch  is  a  very  humane  man,  and  never  uses  profane  language  to  his 
crew.  On  other  ships  the  men  who  go  aloft  are  compelled  to  climb  tarred 
rope  ladders,  but  Captain  Leitch  has  passenger  elevators  rigged  to  the 
masts,  such  as  you  saw  in  the  Palmer  House  in  Chicago,  in  which  they 
sit  comfortably  and  are  hoisted  up  by  a  steam  engine. 

"  Great  heavens !  You  are  not  surely  going  to  send  that  ?  '^ 
"  Why  not  ?  "What  is  an  old  lady  in  silver  spectacles  on  a 
farm  thirty  miles  from  any  water  more  than  a  well,  going  to 
know  about  a  steamer  ?  I  must  write  her  something,  for  she 
persuaded  the  old  gentleman  to  let  me  take  the  trip.  I  ain't 
ungrateful,  I  ain't.  I'll  give  her  one  good  letter,  anyho\v. 
Why,  by  the  way  you  talk,  I  should  suppose  you  never  had  a 
mother,  and  if  you  had  that  you  didn't  know  how  to  treat 
her.  I  hate  a  man  who  don't  love  his  mother  and  isn't  willing 
to  sacrifice  himself  for  her.  All  I  can  do  for  her  now  is  to 
write  to  her,  and  write  such  letters  as  will  interest  her,  and 
the  dear  old  girl  is  going  to  get  them,  if  the  paper  and  ink 
holds  out,  and  they  are  going  to  be  good  ones,  too." 

I  have  got  to  be  a  good  deal  of  a  sailor,  and  if  it  were  not  for  leaving 
you,  which  I  couldn't  do,  I  believe  I  should  take  one  of  these  ships  myself. 
I  know  all  about  starboard  and  port — port  used  to  be  larboard  —  and  I  can 
tell  the  stern  from  the  bow.  On  a  ship  you  don't  say,  **Iwill  go  down 
stairs,"  but  you  say,  "I  will  go  below."  One  would  think  that  I  had  been 
born  on  the  sea,  and  was  a  true  child  of  the  ocean. 

Owing  to  my  strictly  temperate  habits  at  home,  and  my  absolute  abstemi- 
ousness on  the  ship,  I  have  escaped  the  horrors  of  sea  sickness.  As  you 
taught  me,  true  happiness  can  only  be  found  in  virtue.  The  wicked  young 
man  from  New  York  has  been  sick  half  the  time,  as  a  young  man  who  keeps 
a  bottle  in  his  room  should  be. 

The  nice  woolen  stockings  you  knit  for  me  have  been  a  great  comfort, 
and  all  I  regret  is,  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  enough  of  them  to  last  me  till  I 
get  home. 

(The  young  villain  had  purchased  in  I^Tew  York  an  assort- 
ment of  the  most  picturesque  hosiery  procurable,  which  he 


32  NASBY    IN    EXILE.  ♦ 

was  wearing  with  low  cut  shoes.     The  woolen  stockings  he 
gave  to  his  room-steward.) 

The  tracts  you  put  in  my  valise  I  have  read  over  and  over  again,  and 
have  lent  them  since  to  the  passengers  who  prefer  serious  reading  to  trashy 
novels  and  literature  of  that  kind.  What  time  I  have  had  to  spare  for  other 
reading,  I  have  devoted  to  books  of  travel,  so  that  I  may  see  Europe  intelli- 
gently. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  stopped  to  say,  "  are  the  Argyle  rooms 
in  London  actually  closed,  and  is  the  Mabille  in  Paris  as  lively 
as  it  used  to  be  ?  Great  Ca)sar !  won't  I  make  it  lively  for 
them ! " 

In  another  day  we  shall  land  in  Liverpool;  and  then  I  shall  be  only  five 
hours  from  London.  I  long  to  reach  London,  for  I  do  so  desire  to  hear 
Spurgeon,  and  attend  the  Exeter  Hall  meetings,  as  you  desired  me.  But  as 
we  shall  reach  London  on  Tuesday,  I  shall  be  compelled  to  wait  till  the  fol- 
lowing Sunday  —  five  long  days. 

Please  ma,  have  pa  send  me  a  draft  at  my  address  at  London,  at  once.  I 
find  the  expense  of  travel  is  much  greater  than  I  supposed,  and  I  fear  I  shall 
not  have  enough. 

Your  affectionate  son,  Lemuel. 

"  There,"  said  Lemuel,  as  he  sealed  the  letter,  "  that  is  what 
I  call  a  good  letter.  The  old  lady  will  read  it  over  and  over 
to  herself,  and  then  she  will  read  it  to  all  the  neighbors.  It 
will  do  her  a  heap  of  good.  Bye-bye.  The  boys  are  waiting 
for  me  in  the  smoking-room." 

And  stopping  at  the  bar  to  take  a  drink  —  the  liberality  of 
English  measure  was  not  too  great  for  him  —  he  was,  a  minute 
after,  absorbed  in  the  mysteries  of  poker,  and  was  ^'  raking-in  " 
the  money  of  the  others  at  a  lively  rate. 

And  the  letter  went  to  the  good  old  mother,  and  probably 
did  her  good.  And  she,  doubtless,  worried  the  old  gentleman 
till  he  sent  the  graceless  fellow  a  remittance.  Boys  can  always 
be  sure  of  their  mothers  —  would  that  mothers  could  only  be 
half  as  sure  of  their  boys. 

The  fourth  night  out  we  were  favored  with  a  most  terrific 
thunder  storm.  I  say  favored,  now  that  we  are  through  with 
it,  for  it  is  a  good  thing  to  look  back  upon,  but  we  esteemed  it 
no  favor  at  the  time.  A  fierce  storm  is  bad  enough  on  land  — 
it  is  a  terror  on  water.  On  the  land  you  are  threatened  with 
danger  only  from  above  —  on  the  water  you  are  doubly 
menaced.     There  was  the  marshaling  of  the  clouds  that  were 


THE    STORM. 


33 


arranging  themselves  for  an  attack  upon  us,  then  the  terrible 
darkness,  then  the  first  onslaught  of  the  winds,  that  tossed  the 
strong  ship  like  a  cork,  then  the  thunder  that  seemed  like  the 
voice  of  a  merciless  Vengeance,  and  the  lightnings  that  were 
its  fiery  fingers;  pitchy  darkness,  except  when  the  lightning 
illuminated  the  scene,  and  the  sight  it  disclosed  made  dark- 
ness preferable,  for  it  showed  the  great  waves  rolling  one  after 
another,  their  white  crests  like  the  teeth  of  enormous  dra^rons, 
strong  enough  to  crush  the  mass  of  iron  against  which  their 
fury  was  directed.  And  then  the  wind  howl- 
through  the  rigging  was  fearfully  like 
the  shrieks  of  the  monsters  baffled 
and  robbed  of  their  prey.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  entire 
forces  of  I^ature 
were  arrayed 
intelligentl}" 
igainst  our  ship, 
md  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  its  de- 
.  structioD. 


EVERY  SIN  I  HAD  COMMITTED  CAME  BEFORE  ME  LIKE  ACCUSING  GHOSTS. 


It  was  far  from  pleasant,  and  it  is  fortunate  that  such  dis- 
plays last  but  a  little  while.     In  less  than  a  second  from  its 
beginning  every  sin  I  had  ever  committed,  namely,  the  steal- 
ing of  a  watermelon  in  my  boyhood,  and  the  voting  of  a  split 
3 


34  NASBY    IN    EXILE.  ^ 

ticket  in  my  manhood,  came  vividly  before  me  like  accusing 
ghosts.  I  did  remember  also,  once,  that  when  a  ticket-seller  in 
a  railroad  station  in  Troy,  who  was  very  insolent  and  unoblig- 
ing, made  a  mistake  in  my  favor  to  the  amount  of  thirty 
cents,  in  my  anger  I  did  not  rectify  it,  and  I  debated  as  to 
whether  that  was  a  sin  or  not ;  but  when  I  thought  it  over  I 
came  to  the  conclusion  that,  inasmuch  as  the  recording  angel 
knew  how  brutal  the  fellow  was,  he  would  blot  out  the  record 
if  he  had  to  drop  upon  it  a  tear  of  oxalic  acid. 

But  the  good  ship  endured  it  all.  The  great  body  of  iron, 
with  its  soul  of  steam,  and  muscles  of  steel,  defied  the  elements 
and  rode  it  out  safely. 

The  storm  hurried  away  to  pursue  and  fright  other  vessels, 
and  the  waste  of  waters  was  once  more  in  a  sort  of  a  light 
that  was  not  lurid.  Though  the  greatest  terror  was  passed, 
the  long  swell  which  kept  the  ship  either  climbing  a  mountain 
of  water  or  descending  into  its  depths  was  anything  but  pleasant. 

A  ship  at  dock  looks  strong  enough  to  defy  all  the  elements, 
but  out  at  sea  when  those  elements  become  angry  it  is  won- 
derful how  frail  she  seems.     It  is  man  against  Omnipotence. 

I  don't  care  how  many  times  a  man  has  been  to  sea,  the 
first  sight  of  land  after  a  voyage  is  an  unmixed  delight.  I 
know  that,  for  I  have  crossed  the  Great  Lakes  repeatedly,  and 
when  a  boy  I  used  to  "  go  home  "  via  the  Erie  Canal,  I  always 
got  up  early  in  the  morning  to  look  at  the  land  on  either  shore. 
A  man  is  not  a  fish,  and  no  man  takes  to  water  naturally.  It 
is  a  necessity  that  drives  him  to  it,  the  same  as  to  labor. 

Therefore  the  decks  were  crowded  on  the  ninth  morning  of 
the  voyage  when  the  shores  of  Ireland  were  sighted.  Not 
because  it  was  Ireland — nobody  thrilled  over  that  —  but  because 
it  was  land,  because  it  was  something  that  did  not  roll  and 
pitch,  and  toss  and  swing,  but  was  substantial  and  permanent. 
The  Mississippi  Ethiopian,  when  discussing  the  difference  be- 
tween traveling  by  rail  and  water  remarked :  ''  Ef  de  cahs 
run  off  de  track  dah  ye  is  -^  ef  de  boat  goes  to  pieces,  wha  is  ye  ?" 

Ireland  was  there  and  land  was  there  and  reliable.  Ireland 
—  as  land  —  has  no  machinery  to  get  out  of  order,  no  icebergs 
to  run  into  —  no  other  steamers  to  collide  with.  I  was  delighted 
to  look  at  her,  and  I  venture  to  say  that  the  older  the  sailor, 


land: 


!  " 


35' 


the    more     reassuring    and     delightful    the    sight    of    land. 

The  bold  cliffs  looked  friendly,  and  the  long  stretches  of 
green  on  their  summits  were 
an    absolute    delight.      The   ^^ 
color  was  the  green  of  grass.  ^ 
and  trees,  that  had  somethings  ^  ^ 
akin  to  humanity  in  it,  not 
the  glittering,  changing, 
treacherous  green  of  the  IV 
water  we  had  been  sailing  |||[j(| 
over  and  plunging  through 
for  eight  very  long  days. 
And  then  to  think  that  twen- 
ty-four hours  more  w^ould  re-  / 
lease  us   from   our  friendly 
prison,  and  that  (Juring  that 
twenty-four  hours  we  should 
be  within  a  short  distance  of 
land,  was  a  delight. 

I  have  at  times  found 
fault  with  the  Irish  in 
America,  and  I  don't  rank 
Ireland  as  the  greatest  coun-  i 
try  under  the  heavens,  but 
that  morning  I  felt  for  her  a 
most  profound  respect.  Had 
Ashantee  been  the  first  land 
we  had  sighted  that  morn- 
ing, I  presume  I  should  have 
forgiven  the  Ashantees  for 
killing  and  eating  the  mis- 
sionaries. After  one  has  been 
at  sea,  even  for  eight  days, 
land  is  the  principal  wish  of 
the  heart.  One  day  and  night  across  the  Channel,  and  we 
made  Liverpool.  There  were  promises  to  meet  in  London,  or 
Paris,  exchanges  of  cards,  the  passing  the  Custom  House  with 
our  baggage,  the  purchase  of  tickets,  and  we  found  ourselves 
in  the  cars  of  the  Midland  Eoad  and  scurrying  away  through 
Derbyshire  to  London. 


OFF  FOR  LONDON. 


LONDON,  AND  THINGS  PER- 


The  largest  city  of  the 
world  !  The  most  mon- 
strous aggregation  of  men, 
women,  children;  the  center 
of  financial,  military,  mental, 
and  moral  power !  The  con- 
trolling city  of  the  world! 
This  is  London! 

There  may  be  in  the  effete 
East  larger  aggregations  of 
what,  by  courtesy,  maybe  called 
humanity,  for  in  those  coun- 
tries the  limits  of  cities  are  not  properly  defined,  nor  is  the 
census  talien  with  any  accuracy.  But  these  cities  exercise  no 
especial  influence  upon  the  world ;  they  control  nothing  out- 
side of  their  own  countries ;  they  reach  out  to  nothing ;  they 
are  simply  hives. 

Even  an  A.merioan,  with  all  his  pride  in  his  country  and 
her  magnificent  cities,  feels  somewhat  dwarfed  to  find  himself 
in  a  city  eight  times  as  large  as  Chicago,  four  times  as  large  as 

(36) 


THE    ENGLISHMAN.  37" 

New  York,  and  his  pride  in  wealth  and  power,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  collapses  when  he  realizes  the  fact  that  he  is 
where  the  finances  of  the  world  are  absolutely  controlled  ;  that 
he  is  at  the  very  center  of  the  vastest  money  and  military 
power  in  tlie  world  ! 

There  is  nothing  greater  as  yet  than  London,  and  whether 
there  ever  will  be  is  a  question.  I  hope  not.  Men,  women  and 
children  are  all  very  well,  but  they  thrive  best  where  they  have 
room  to  develop.  Four  millions  of  them  together  on  so  small 
a  piece  of  ground  dwarfs  them.     They  do  better  on  the  prairies. 

England  is  an  enormous  octopus,  whose  feelers,  armed 
with  very  strong  and  sharp  claws,  embrace  the  world,  and 
London,  the  mouth  and  stomach  of  the  monster,  is  sucking  its 
prey  steadily  and  mercilessly.  The  animal  lost  one  feeler 
which  America  cut  off  in  177G,  and  her  grasp  is  weakening 
elsewhere,  but  she  has  enough.  India  contributes  its  life 
blood,  China  contributes,  the  islands  of  the  sea  contribute,  and 
pretty  much  the  whole  world  gives  more  or  less. 

England  comes  by  her  characteristics  honestly.  The  human 
being  we  call  an  Englishman,  half  merchant  and  half  soldier, 
the  soldier  element  being  purely  piratical,  never  could  have 
been  developed  out  of  one  race.  Each  race  has  some  peculiar 
quality  which  distinguishes  it  and  marks  it  everywhere.  The 
Scotchman  is  noted  for  his  hardiness,  thrift;  and  stubbornness ; 
the  Dutchman  for  his  steadiness,  boldness,  and  quiet  daring; 
the  Irishman  for  emigrating  to  New  York  and  getting  on  the 
police  force  in  a  month,  and  so  on.  But  the  man  we  call  an 
Englishman  is  a  composite  institution. 

The  old  Saxon  was  a  stolid  fellow,  with  flashes  of  temper. 
He  never  could  control  things,  for  he  was  too  lazy  and  sensual ; 
but  he  had  qualities  that  mixed  well  with  others.  You  have 
to  have  hair  in  plaster.  But  when  the  Dane,  who  was  a  born 
sea  pirate,  swooped  down  upon  Britain,  and  the  Norman,  who 
was  a  born  land  pirate,  came  also,  and  mixed  with  the  Saxon, 
there  was  a  new  creation,  and  that  is  the  Englishman  of  to-day. 
He  is  a  born  trader  and  a  born  soldier,  with  a  wisdom  that  the 
rest  of  the  Avorld  has  not.  His  fighting  power  is  made  subject 
and  subordinate  to  his  trading  power. 

When  England  wants  anything  she  does  not  stop  to  ask 


38  NASBY    IN    EXILE.  « 

any  questions  as  to  the  right  or  wrong  of  the  thing  —  she 
quietly  goes  and  takes  it,  tiiat  is,  if  she  is  stronger  than  the 
party  she  desires  to  capture.  If  the  other  party  objects,  a  few 
armies  are  sent  out  and  the  country  is  brought  to  reason  imme- 
diately.    Your  bayonet  is  a  rare  persuader. 

Can  a  country  afford  to  fit  out  costly  armaments  and  main- 
tain vast  armies  for  such  purposes  ?  Certainly,  if  it  is  done  on 
England's  plan.  England,  after  spending  some  millions  in 
subjugating  a  country,  sitoply  assesses  the  cost  of  the  operation 
with  as  many  millions  for  interest  as  she  thinks  the  subjugated 
party  can  bear  without  destroying  it,  and  makes  it  pay.  She 
never  destroys  a  country  entirely,  for  she  has  further  use  for 
it.  She  wants  the  inhabitants,  once  subjugated,  to  go  on  and 
labor  and  toil  and  sweat,  for  all  time  to  come,  to  furnish  her 
with  raw  material,  and  then  to  buy  it  back  again  in  the  shape 
of  manufactured  goods,  which,  as  she  buys  cheap  and  sells 
dear,  makes  a  very  handsome  profit,  besides  furnishing  employ- 
ment to  her  vast  merchant  marine  in  the  carrying  trade. 

And  then  her  merchants  manage  to  interest  a  certain  por- 
tion of  the  natives  with  her  in  plundering  their  neighbors,  and 
so  her  rule  is  made  tolerably  safe  and  inexpensive.  This  is 
about  the  size  of  it.  She  conquers  a  country,  and  after  reim- 
bursing herself,  calls  a  convention  of  native  Princes  and  says : 
"  Here,  now,  we  are  going  to  hold  this  country,  anyhow.  We 
are  going  to  have  the  trade  and  the  revenues,  and  you  see  we 
can  do  it.  You  fellows  may  as  well  have  your  whack  in  it.'' 
(These,  of  course,  are  not  the  exact  words  used,  but  I  am  writ- 
ing what  a  ]^ew  York  politician  would  say.  A  ring  man's 
words  mean  exactly  what  diplomatic  language  does,  and  they 
are  always  more  to  the  point.)  "  ^Now  you  help  us  keep  the 
others  down,  and  you  shall  keep  your  own  places  and  shall 
have  yourselves  fifty  per  cent,  of  what  you  can  grind  out  of 
your  people,  and  as  we  shall  stand  behind  you  with  our  power, 
tliat  fifty  per  cent,  will  be  more  than  you  could  possibly  screw 
out  of  them  alone  and  unaided." 

The  native  Prince  sees  the  point,  for  he  is  as  merciless  and 
cruel  as  an  Englishman,  and  I  cannot  say  more  than  that,  and 
he  assents.  Immediately  there  is  a  rush  of  native  Princes,  all 
anxious  to  join  in  for  their  plunder,  and  England  apportions 


TWO    POLICIES. 


39 


to  each  his  share,  according  to  his  importance,  and  in  less  than 

no  time  she  has  a  native  army, 

officered  by  English,  to  keep  the 

people  down  to  the  proper  level, 

and  to  collect  taxes  and  protect 

traders,  and  all  that  sort  of 

thing,  and  London  draws  in  the 

money  and  lives  royally. 

And,  then,  if  any  Prince,  or 
people,  or  soldiery,  or  anybody 
else,  fancy  they  have  rights  of 
their  own,  and  question  the 
tight  of  the  foreigner  to  tax 
them  and  grind  them,  they  blow  I 
a  few  thousands  of  them  from| 
the  mouths  of  cannon,  to  teach! 
them  the  beauty  of  obedience 

It  would  take  a  wiser  man 
than  I  am  to  determine  by  what 
right,  earthly  or  unearthly,  Eng-| 
land  holds  India,  but  she  does" 
all  the  same,  without  a  blush. 

Perhaps  it  is  as  well  for  the 
Indians.  The  native  Princes  were  just  as  rapacious  and  more 
senseless  than  the  English.  If  a  native  Indian  should  swallow 
a  diamond,  his  Prince 
would  rip  him  open  to  get 
it,  which  made  him  useless 
ever  after.  Johnny  Bull, 
more  politic  and  far  see- 
ing, would  force  an  emetic 
down  his  throat,  so  that 
he  might  go  on  and  tind 
more  diamonds  to  swal- 
low. He  gets  the  diamond 
all  the  same,  and  saves  the 
subject  for  future  profit. 

The  strength  of  Eng- 
land is  its  fighting  capa- 
city, its  mercantile  capacity,  and  its  wonderful  rapacity.     As 


THE   INDIAN   POLICY. 


THE  EMETIC  POLICY. 


40  NASnV     IN     KXILE.  « 

was  said  of  a  noted  criminal  in  the  States,  "  he  wouldn't  steal 
anything  he  couldn't  lift,  though  he  did  tackle  a  red-hot  cook- 
stove,"  so  with  England.  The  eyes  of  her  moneyed  power, 
and  it  is  more  than  Argus-eyed,  are  being  strained  every  day 
for  new  w^orlds  to  sell  goods  to,  knowing  perfectly  well  that 
Avhen  they  find  a  field  the  Government  will  furnish  muskets  to 
occupy  that  field.  And  let  no  mistake  be  inade.  If  the  field 
is  worth  occupying  it  will  be  occupied  beyond  a  doubt. 

Ireland  is  an  example,'  Scotland  would  be,  only  the  Scotch, 
having  a  habit  of  standing  together,  are  ugly  customers  to  deal 
with,  and  as  they  and  the  English  get  along  tolerably  well 
together,  there  is  no  especial  trouble  between  them. 

Hence  it  is  that  London  is  so  great.  London  is  the  center 
of  this  vast  system  of  plunder  and  rapine,  and  the  result  of  it 
all  comes  hera  Here  is  the  Court,  here  is  the  seat  of  Govern, 
ment,  here  is  where  the  great  nobles,  no  matter  where  their 
seats  may  be,  are  compelled -to  spend  a  portion  of  their  time; 
they  are  all  obliged  to  have  town  residences ;  here  they  bring 
their  flunkies  and  retinues  of  servants,  and  they  make  the  great 
city. 

It  is  not  a  commercial  point,  as  is  Liverpool  or  Kew  York, 
nor  a  manufacturing  point,  as  is  Manchester  or  Philadelphia. 
It  is  where  the  spoils  of  the  present  organized  legal  brigandage 
are  divided,  and  where  the  surplus  of  the  organized  brigandage 
of  past  centuries  is  exjiended. 

The  tradesman  of  London  would  not  alter  the  existing  con- 
dition of  things  if  he  could.  He  believes  in  that  shadowy 
myth  called  the  Queen,  not  because  he  knows  anything  about 
her,  or  cares  a  straw  for  her,  but  simply  because  when  she 
which  means  the  Court,  is  in  London,  trade  is  good.  That 
eminent  descendant  of  an  eminent  robber.  Sir  Giles  Fitz  Battle, 
axe,  is  here  during  the  season,  with  all  his  flunkies  and  servi- 
tors, and  the  tradesmen  have  to  supply  them.  As  Sir  Giles 
has  vast  estates  in  Ireland  and  Scotland,  and  the  Lord  knows 
where  else,  which  yield  him  an  immense  revenue.  Sir  Giles's 
steward  can  pool  his  issues  with  his  tradesman  and  both  get 
rich.  Sir  Giles  doesn't  care,  for.  he  is  paying  all  this  out  of 
rents  of  property,  the  title  to  which  came  from  a  King  who 
stole  the  ground,  and  he  has  enough  anyhow. 


A     FEW     STATISTICS.  41 

And  then  comes  the  foreign  robberies,  which  he  has  an 
interest  in,  and  those  make  up  any  waste  that  may  happen  at 
home.  Even  the  cabman,  who  haggles  with  you  over  a  shil- 
ling, is  loyal  to  the  Crown  and  the  Church,  for  the  Crow^  and 
the  Church  bring  to  London  the  people  who  make  him  his 
fares. 

llampaiit  republican  as  I  am,  opposed  to  monarchy  as  I  am, 
I  am  contributing  several  pounds  per  diem  to  the  maintenance 
of  the  British  throne.  I  am  here  to  see  royalty,  and  every. 
body  that  I  come  in  contact  with,  from  the  boy  who  cleans 
my  boots  to  the  lady  who  rents  me  my  rooms,  sing  hosannas 
to  the  system  that  brings  me  here  to  be  plundered.  When  1 
give  a  shilling  to  a  servant  she  doesn't  thank  me  for  it,  but 
she  goes  to  her  garret  and  sings,  "God  Save  the  Queen." 
That  amiable  shadow^  gets  all  the  credit  for  my  .money. 

They  shall  give  thanks  to  Victoria  for  me  but  very  little. 
I  will  be  a  republican  to  the  extent  of  leaving  as  small  an 
amount  of  money  in  England  as  possible.  Could  there  be  a 
league  of  Americans  formed  who  would  refuse  to  pay  any- 
thing, I  am  not  sure  but  that  royalty  might  be  overthrown, 
and  a  republic  established  on  its  ruins. 

And  yet  I  am  not  certain  that  that  w^ould  answer  any  good 
purpose.  But  for  these  advantages  I  don't  think  anybody 
would  live  in  London.  It  was  said  that  if  tlie  Pilgrims  had 
landed  in  the  Mississippi  Yalley,  Xew  England  would  never 
have  been  settled,  and,  therefore,  it  was  providential  that  the 
Pilgrims  were  so  directed.  But  for  royalty  and  the  profit 
that  pertains  to  a  Court,  I  doubt  if  London  could  hold  jwpuia- 
tion.  For  if  there  is  a  disagreeable  —  but  I  reserve  this  for  a 
special  occasion,  when,  less  amiable  than  I  am  now,  I  can  do 
the  subject  justice. 

London  has  a  population,  in  round  numbers,  of  four  mil- 
lions. Without  including  outlying  suburbs,  it  covers  seventy- 
eight  thousand  and  eighty  acres,  or  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
two  square  miles.  The  length  of  the  streets  and  roads  is  about 
fifteen  hundred  miles,  and  their  area  nearly  twelve  square 
miles.  The  area  of  London  being  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
two  square  miles,  is  equal  to  a  square  of  about  eleven  miles  to 
the  side.     Assuming  that  it  is  crossed   by  straight   roads  at 


42  NASBY    IN    EXILE.  « 

equal  intervals,  there  would  be  one  hundred  and  thirt\^-six 
such  roads,  each  eleven  miles  long  and  one  hundred  and  forty- 
two  yards  apart.  The  sewers  have  a  length  of  about  two 
thousand  miles,  and  are  equal  to  one  hundred  and  eighty-two 
sewers  eleven  miles  in  length,  on  an  average  of  one  hundred 
and  six  vards  apart.  At  the  census  in  1871  there  were  w^ithin 
this  area  four  hundred  and  seventeen  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  sixty-seven  inhabited  houses,  containing  an  average  of 
seven  and  eight-tenths  persons  to  a  house,  exactly  correspond- 
ing with  the  proportion  in  1861.  The  density  of  population 
was  forty-two  persons  to  an  acre,  twenty-six  thousand  six  hun- 
dred and  seventy-four  to  a  square  mile.  The  population,  esti- 
mated to  the  middle  of  the  year,  amounted  to  three  million 
six  hundred  and  sixty-four  thousand  one  hundred  and  forty- 
nine. 

These  statistics  I  know  to  be  correct,  for  I  got  them  from 
a  newspaper.  I  copy  it  entire,  for  the  readers  of  this  book 
do  not  take  the  London  Chronicle^  as  a  rule,  and  it  would  be 
too  expensive  to  send  each  one  a  copy  of  it.  If  an}^  false  state- 
ments are  made  it  is  the  Chronicle's  fault  and  not  mine. 

The  climate  is,  to  put  it  mildly,  fiendish.  I  have  been  in 
every  possible  section  of  the  United  States  that  could  be  reached 
by  rail,  water,  or  stage,  and  I  w^as  never  in  a  location,  except- 
ing California,  in  which  the  citizens  whereof  would  not  remark  : 
"  Oh,  yes  ;  this  would  be  a  good  country  to  live  in  if  it  w^as  not 
for  the  changeable  climate.  The  changes  are  too  sudden  and 
severe."  One  blessed  result  of  my  coming  to  London  is  to 
make  me  entirely  content  with  the  worst  climate  America  has. 
Tennessee  is  a  paradise  to  it,  so  far  as  climate  goes,  and  when 
you  have  said  that  the  subject  is  closed. 

It  rains  in  London  with  greater  ease  than  it  does  in  any 
place  in  the  world.  The  sun  will  be  shining  brightly  in  the 
heavens ;  you  look  out  of  your  window  and  say :  "  I  wall  take 
a  walk  this  morning  without  that  accursed  umbrella,"  and  you 
brush  your  silk  hat  —  everybody  who  is  anybody  must  wear  a 
silk  hat  —  and  you  sally  forth  with  your  cane.  You  turn  into 
the  Strand,  feeling  especially  cheerful  in  the  sun,  wlien  all  of 
a  sudden  the  sky  is  overcast  and  you  hat  is  ruined.  You  call 
a  hansom  and  go  back  to  your  lodgings  for  your  umbrella,  and 


THE    CLIMATE.  43 

when  you  have  encumbered  yourself  with  the  clumsy  nuisance 
the  sun  comes  out  smiling,  and  the  rain  is  over,  only  to  resume 
operations  again  without  the  slightest  possible  reason. 

Everybody  in  London  carries  an  umbrella  habitually  and 
all  the  time.  Ko  man  ventures  out  of  doors  without  one,  no 
matter  how  the  sky  appears.  In  America  a  fair  day  may  be 
counted  upon,  but  here  there  is  no  dependence  to  be  placed 
upon  anything  in  the  form  of  weather.  Last  week  (June  1)  it 
was  as  hot  as  it  ought  to  be  the  same  day  in  Charleston,  South 
Carolina;  to-day  (June  7)  I  came  in,  went  out,  and  came  in 
wearing  an  overcoat,  and  a  tolerably  heavy  one  at  that.  What 
the  weather  will  be  to-morrow,  heaven  only  knows.  I  have 
experienced  so  many  and  so  violent  changes  that  I  should  not 
be  surprised  if  it  should  snow.  I  may  go  skating  next  week 
upon  the  Serpentine. 

But  the  Londoners  don't  mind  it.  They  are  used  to  it. 
From  the  ease  with  which  they  carry  umbrellas,  I  am  con- 
vinced that  they  are  born  with  them,  as  George  Washington 
was  with  the  hatchet.  A  Londoner  never  lends  his  umbrella, 
for  everybody  has  his  own,  and  he  never  loses  it.  It  is  a  part 
of  him,  as  much  as  is  his  nose.  The  umbrella  should  be  in  the 
coat  of  arms  of  the  royal  family,  and  I  do  not  know  but  it  is. 

It  is  a  dull  and  heavy  climate.  How  it  aifects  a  native  I 
cannot  tell,  but  an  American  has  a  disposition  to  sleep  perpetu- 
ally and  forever. 

In  the  house  I  am  in  is  an  American,  who  insisted  one 
morning  on  going  across  the  square  without  his  umbrella.  I 
mildly  remonstrated.  "  It  is  safe,"  he  said,  "  it  isn't  raining 
now,  for  it  was  a  minute  ago."  He  was  right,  but  he  came  to 
grief  for  all  that.     It  rained  again  in  another  minute. 

London  is  a  miracle  of  twistedness.  If  there  is  a  straight 
street  in  it  —  that  is,  one  that  runs  parallel  with  any  other  — 
I  have  not  found  it.  The  streets  of  Boston,  it  is  said,  were 
originally  cow-paths.  If  those  of  London  were  located  on  the 
paths  of  cows,  the  cows  must  have  been  intoxicated,  for  there 
is  no  system  nor  any  approach  to  one.  They  begin  Avithout 
cause  and  end  without  reason.  There  are  angles,  curves  and 
stoppages,  and  that  is  all  there  is  about  it.  Where  a  street,  to 
answer  the  ends  of  convenience  and  economy,  should  go  on, 


44  NASnV    IX     KXILK.  ^ 

you  come  squarely  against  a  dead  wall,  and  where  a  street 
should  naturally  end,  there  has  been  constructed,  at  vast 
expense,  a  continuance,  and  for  no  apparent  reason.  Doubtless 
there  is  a  reason,  but  I  would  give  a  handsome  premium  to 
have  it  made  manifest  to  me. 

Lil<:e  all  old  cities,  there  never  w^as  a  plan.  This  ground 
was  never  taken  up  at  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  an  acre,  as  in 
America,  by  a  set  of  speculators,  and  laid  out  in  regular 
squares,  and  sold  at  so  m.uch  a  lot.  London  never  was  made  — 
it  grew.  The  original  city  is  a  little  spot,  occupied  mostly  by 
banks,  but  other  cities  grew  around  it,  and  they  were  joined 
by  all  sorts  of  lanes  and  roads,  which  in  time  became  occupied, 
and  so  the  inextricable  jumble  occurred. 

The  city  is  built  entirely  of  brick  and  stone,  and  in  the 
style  and  convenience  of  its  buildings,  is  not  to  be  compared  to 
American  cities.  There  is  a  terrible  monotony  in  its  architec- 
ture, and  a  most  depressing  sameness  in  color.  All  London  is 
dingy.  Occasionally  an  enterprising  citizen  paints  his  house  to 
distinguish  it  from  his  neighbor's,  but  he  never  does  it  but 
once.  The  coal  consumed  is  bituminous,  and  the  smoke  it 
produces  is  the  thickest  smoke  in  the  world,  and  it  hangs  very 
close  to  the  earth.  The  paint  becomes  discolored  in  a  few 
months,  and  the  aspiring  citizen  finds  in  the  smoke  a  protest 
against  his  vanity.  His  house  soon  drops  into  line  with  his 
neighbor's,  and  is  as  dingy  as  before. 

The  streets  of  London  are  crowded  to  a  degree  that  an. 
American  can  hardly  conceive.  Isaiah  R^^nders  said  once  that 
it  required  more  intellect  to  cross  Broadway  than  it  did  to  be 
a  country  justice.  Had  Isaiah  stayed  a  week  in  London  he 
would  have  had  the  conceit  taken  out  of  him.  The  streets  of 
London,  all  of  them,  are  boiling,  seething  masses  of  mov- 
ing men  and  animals.  Omni  busses,  vast  cumbrous  machines, 
loaded  full  inside,  and  with  twenty  people  on  the  top,  hansoms, 
cabs,  trucks,  drays,  donkey  carts,  pony  carts,  carriages,  form  a 
never-beginning  and  never-ending  procession,  making  a  roar 
like  the  w^aters  of  Niagara.  He  Avho  attempts  to  cross  a  street 
has  to  make  it  a  regular  business.  It  cannot  be  done  leisurely 
or  in  a  dignified  way.  You  narrowly  escape  being  run  down 
by  a  hansom,  only  to  find  yourself  in  danger  of  being  impaled 


vp:hic(jlab. 


45 


by  the  pole  of  an  omnibus,  and  escaping  that,  a  donkey  cart  is 
ohargino*  full  at  you,  and  if  yoil  escape  a  carriage,  and  a  dozen 
dog  carts,  you  finally  find  yourself  on  the  sidewalk  plump  in 


A   LONDON  STREET  SCENE. 


the  stomach  of  somebody,  who  accepts  your  apology  with  a 
growl. 

I  shall  never  get  over  m}^  admiration  for  the  London  driver- 


r 


46  NASBY    IN    EXILE.  ^ 

How  he  can  guide  one  horse,  or  still  more  wonderful,  two, 
through  this  vehicular  labyrinth,  is  a  mystery  that  I  cannot 
comprehend.  I  would  as  soon  think  of  taking  command  of 
the  British  army,  and  a  great  deal  sooner,  for  if  I  didn't  stom- 
ach fighting,  I  could  run.  But  they  do  it,  and  they  seldom 
have  accidents. 

And  while  I  am  on  the  subject  of  driving,  I  may  as  well 
get  through  with  it.  The  horses  used  in  London  embrace  a 
vast  variety.  The  draught  horses  are  all  of  the  ISTorman 
variety,  about  as  large  as  small  elephants,  and  magnificent  in 
their  strength.  They  are  massive,  and  the  loads  they  draw 
a^re  wonderful.  The  trucks  are  enormous  in  size  and  strength, 
with  great,  broad  wheels,  and  merchandise  is  piled  upon  them 
mountain  high.  Two  of  these  horses,  nineteen  hands  high, 
and  built  proportionately,  with  great,  clumsy  legs,  will  take 
an  enormous  load  along  the  streets,  making  no  fuss,  and  seem- 
ingly without  worry. 

But  when  one  notices  the  condition  of  the  streets  the  won- 
der at  the  loads  that  are  drawn  ceases.  They  are  as  smooth 
as  glass.  The  stone  pavements  are  evenly  laid  and  absolutely 
without  ruts.  The  wooden  pavement,  answering  to  the  l^ichol- 
son,  which  has  invariably  been  a  failure  in  America,  is  a  success 
here,  and  for  a  very  simple  reason.  The  contractors  are  com- 
pelled to  do  their  work  honestly.  There  is  no  shoddy  in  the 
pavements  of  London.  They  are  all  as  sound  as  the  Bank  of 
England.  They  don't  lay  down  some  pine  boards  in  the  mud, 
and  then  stand  rotten  blocks  on  end  upon  them,  as  we  do  in 
America,  but  there  is  a  solid  foundation  of  broken  stone  and 
such  matter  laid  down  first,  and  this  is  filled  with  sand,  and 
then  the  blocks,  all  good  timber,  are  placed  upon  that  in  a 
proper  way,  the  whole  resulting  in  a  road-bed  as  solid  as  stone 
itself,  and  smooth  and  noiseless,  making  a  roadway  over  which 
any  load  can  be  drawn  without  injur}^  to  either  beast  or 
vehicle,  and  one  which  will  be  good  long  after  the  makers  are 
dust.  The  vehicles  are  made  so  strong  as  they  are,  not  for 
fear  of  the  roads,  but  to  hold  the  enormous  weights  that  the 
roads  make  possible. 

Sometime  w^e  of  America  will  get  to  doing  things  in  a  per- 
manent way.     It  will  be,  however,  after  all  the  present  race 


THE    VICIOUS    HORSE.  47 

of  contractors  are  worth  several  millions  each.  I  presume  in 
the  ancient  days  there  were  rings  in  London.  If  so  I  can 
understand  the  uses  for  the  beheading  blocks  exhibited  at  the 
Tower. 

All  the  vehicles  used  in  the  city  are  massive  and  solid. 
You  see  none  of  the  flimsy  spider-web  wheels  and  light  airy 
bodies  in  carriages  that  we  affect  in  America.  The  wheels  of 
a  cab  to  carry  four  people  are  quite  three  inches  thick,  and  the 
bodies  are  correspondingly  clumsy.  Like  their  owners,  they 
are  very  solid. 

But  the  hansom  is  the  peculiar  vehicle.  The  four-wheeler 
is  a  sort  of  a  sober-going  cab,  the  one  you  would  expect  the 
mother  of  a  family  or  a  respectable  widow  lady  to  use.  The 
driver  sits  in  front,  as  a  driver  should^  and  the  entire  concern 
is  closed  except  as  you  may  desire  to  have  air  by  letting  down 
eminently  respectable  windows  in  the  side.  But  the  hansom  is 
quite  another  thing.  The  occupant  is  in  a  low  seat,  while  his 
driver  sits  above  him  on  a  perch  and  the  reins  go  over  the 
occupant's  head.  Kext  to  swindling  his  customer  out  of  a  six- 
pence on  his  fare,  the  chief  ambition  of  the  driver  of  a  hansom 
is  to  run  down  a  foot  passenger,  and  in  this  ambition  his  horse 
shares  fully,  if  he  does  not  exceed  him.  The  horses  used  in 
these  piratical  vehicles  are  generally  broken-down  hunters,  who, 
too  slow  to  longer  hunt  the  wily  fox,  and  harnessed  in  the 
ignoble  hansom,  have  transferred  their  hunting  instincts  to 
men.  When  the  "  jarvey,"  as  he  is  called  here,  fixes  his  eagle 
eye  upon  a  citizen  whom  he  proposes  to  run  down,  the  horse 
knows  it  as  if  by  instinct,  and  they  come  charging  down  upon 
him  at  a  pace  something  as -did  the  French  cuirassiers  at 
Waterloo.  And  if  the  intended  victim  escapes,  the  driver 
gnashes  his  teeth  in  rage,  and  the  sympathizing  horse  drops 
his  head  and  moves  on  a  walk  till  the  sight  of  another  coun- 
tryman or  stranger  rouses  his  ambition.  It  is  said  that  when 
a  driver  succeeds  in  running  down  a  foot  passenger  the  injured 
man  is  the  one  who  is  arrested. 

The  shops  of  London  are  of  two  kinds  —  the  gorgeous  mod- 
ern and  the  respectable  ancient.  The  modern  are  of  the  most 
gorgeous  kind.  They  are  not  as  in  New  York,  immense  show 
windows  with  a  door  between ;  but  there  is  an  immense  show 


48  NASBY    IN    EXILE.  % 

window  in  the  middle,  with  a  small  passage  on  the  side.  When 
a  London  tradesman  wants  a  show  window  he  wants  it  all 
show.  It  is  very  like  the  piety  of  some  men  I  know.  He 
doesn't  care  how  small  the  opening  is  to  get  into  the  place,  for 
he  knows  if  he  attracts  a  customer  by  the  display  of  his  goods 
in  the  window,  he,  the  said  customer,  will  manage  somehow  to 
get  inside.  The  point  is  to  corral  the  customer.  Once  in,  his 
bones  can  be  picked  at  leisure. 

The  modern  shops  are  as  gorgeously  fitted  up  inside  as  out- 
They  have  silver  plated  rails,  magnificently  decorated  counters 
and  show-cases,  even  more  than  the  New  York  stores  have. 

Then  there  is  the  eminently  respectable  shops  which  despise 
these  gorgeous  ones  about  the  same  as  an  old  noble,  descended 
from  one  of  the  first  robbers,  looks  down  upon  a  Knight  of 
day  before  yesterday.  These  are  the  sloops  that  have  over 
their  doors  "Established  in  1692."  They  would  no  more  put 
in  a  plate  glass  window  than  they  would  forge  a  note.  Thej^ 
revel  in  their  dustiness,  and  are  proud  of  their  darkness  and 
inconvenience.  They  wouldn't  sweep  out  the  premises  if  they 
could  help  it,  and  the  very  cob-webs  are  sacred  as  being  so* 
many  silent  witnesses  to  the  antiquity  of  the  house. 

"  The  house,  sir,  of  Smithers  &  Co.,  was  established  by 
Samuel  Smithers  on  this  very  spot  in  1692,  and  business  has. 
been  done  under  that  name,  and  by  his  successors,  ever  since, 
except  an  interval  of  two  months,  which  was  occasioned  by  a 
fire  —  from  the  outside.  The  house  of  Samuel  Smithers  &  Co.. 
could  never  have  originated  a  fire  upon  their  own  premises.. 
The  business  is  conducted  with  more  system.  We  have  never' 
had  a  protested  paper  and  never  asked  an  accommodation." 

This  is  what  the  present  head  of  the  house  will  say  to  you.. 
He  has  as  much  pride  in  the  house  as  the  Queen  has  in  her 
Queenship,  and  with  infinitely  more  reason.  He  would  not 
allow^  a  new  pane  of  glass  to  be  put  in,  and  he  wouldn't  change 
a  thing  about  the  premises  for  the  world.  He  prides  himself 
on  the  inconveniences  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  and  would  die 
sooner  than  to  use  a  modern  notion  in  the  business. 

But  the  Smitherses  are  good  people  with  whom  to  do  busi- 
ness. Among  the  other  old-fashioned  customs  they  preserve  is. 
that  of  honesty.     They  keep  good  goods,  no  shoddy ;   they 


AN   OLD    HOFSE  49 

have  a  fair  price,  and  you  might  as  well  undertake  to  tear 
down  Westminster  Abbey  with  a  hair-pin  as  to  induce  any 
variation  therefrom.  They  want  your  trade  —  every  English- 
man wants  trade  —  but  they  prefer  their  system  to  trade. 
You  buy,  if  you  buy  of  them,  on  their  terms.  But  you 
know  what  you  get,  and  that  is  worth  something. 

This  affection  for  the  old  is  general.  It  is  a  fact  that  one 
eating  house,  noted  for  its  chops  and  steaks,  and  ales  and  wines, 
which  had  been  in  existence  no  one  knows  how  many  years, 
and  had  its  regular  succession  of  patrons,  who  came  in  at 
regular  hours,  and  ate  and  drank  the  same  things,  and  read 
the  same  newspapers  till  death  claimed  them,  fell,  by  reason  of 
death,  into  the  hands  of  young  men.  These  young  fellows 
were  somewhat  progressive,  and  they  determined  to  bring  the 
old  place  abreast  with  modern  ideas.  And  so  they  swept  out 
the  cob-webs,  painted  the  interior,  decorated  it  in  bright  colors 
put  in  new  tables,  swept  and  cleaned  things,  and  replaced  the 
old  floor  with  modern  tiles,  and  made  it  one  of  the  most  hand- 
some places  in  London. 

The  effect  was  fatal.  The  old  habitues  of  the  place  came, 
looked  inside,  ran  out  to  see  if  they  had  not  made  a  mistake  as 
to  the  number,  and  finding  they  were  right  as  to  locality, 
sighed  and  turned  sadly  away.  They  could  not  eat  in  any 
such  place,  and  they  went  and  found  some  other  antiquated 
den,  whose  proprietor  was  sensible  enough  not  to  tear  down 
sacred  cob-webs,  and  put  in  fresh  floors. 

The  old  patronage  was  lost  forever,  and  the  proprietors 
were  compelled  to  build  up  an  entirely  new  business,  the  cost 
of  which  nearly  put  them  into  bankruptcy. 

All  travelers  lie.  I  am  going  to  try  to  be  an  exception  to 
this  rule,  and  shall,  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  cling  to  the  truth 
as  a  shipwrecked  mariner  does  to  a  spar.  1  shall  try  to  con- 
quer the  tendency  to  lie  that  overcome  every  man  who  gets  a 
hundred  miles  away  from  home.  But  I  presume  I  shall  fail ; 
and  so  when  I  get  home  and  say  that  living  is  cheaper  and 
better  in  London  than  it  is  anywhere  in  America,  please  say  to 
me,  "  You  are  lying  !  "     You  will  do  the  correct  thing. 

"No  doubt  when  there  I  shall  say  to  Smith  or  Thompson, 
"  My  boy,  what  you  want  to  do  is  to  go  abroad.     You  want  to 
4 


50 


NASEY    IN    EXILE. 


see  London.  And  as  for  the  expense,  what  is  it  ?  Your  pas- 
sage across  is  only  one  hundred  dollars  —  ten  days  —  and  that 
is  but  ten  dollars  a  day.  And  then  you  can  live  so  much 
cheaper  in  London  than  you  can  in  New  York  that  it  is  really 
cheaper  to  go  abroad  than  it  is  to  stay  at  home." 

I  presume  I  shall  say  this  when  I  get  home,  for  I  know  the 
tendency  of  the  traveler  to  lie.  I  have  traveled  all  over  North 
America,  and  I  confess,  with  shame  mantling  my  cheek,  that 
I  have  at  times  added  some  feet  to  the  height  of  mountains 


A  LONDON  STEAK. 


and  to  the  width  of  rivers,  and  to  the  number  of  Indians,  and 
once  I  did  invent  an  exploit  which  never  happened,  and  I  have 
narrated  incidents  which  never  occurred.  It  is  such  a  tempta- 
tion to  be  a  hero  when  you  know  you  can  never  be  successfully 
disputed. 

While  I  am  yet  young  in  foreign  travel,  and  capable  of  an 
approximation  to  truth,  I  wish  to  say  that  London  is  not  only 
not  a  cheap  place  to  live,  but  an  exceedingly  dear  one. 

"  Just  think  of  it,"  said  a  travel-wise  New  Yorker,  in  New 


THE    MATTER  -OF    COST.  51 

York,  to  me,  "just  think  of  a  steak  for  a  shilling!  Here  you 
pay  twice  that ! " 

So  we  do,  but  when  you  pay  fifty  cents  for  a  steak  in  'New 
York,  you  get  a  steak,  and  you  get  with  it  bread  and  butter 
ad  libitum  —  you  get  pickles,  and  sauces,  and  potatoes,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  Your  fifty  cent  steak,  with  the  accompani- 
ments it  carries,  makes  you  a  meal,  and  a  good  one. 

In  London  your  steak  is  twenty-five  cents,  but  it  is  only  a 
sample.  After  eating  it  you  want  some  steak.  Then  you  pay 
six  cents  for  potatoes,  two  cents  for  what  they  call  a  bread  — 
you  always  have  more  and  there  is  a  charge  for  each  individual 
slice  —  you  pay  two  cents  for  each  tiny  pat  of  butter,  you  are 
compelled  to  struggle  for  a  napkin,  and  if  you  ask  for  ice  to 
cool  the  infernal  insipid  water,  you  pay  two  cenjts  for  that,  and 
you  get  just  enough  to  aggravate  you.  And,  then,  when  you 
are  through,  the  smirking  mass  of  stupidity  and  inefficiency 
they  call  a  waiter  wants  and  expects  a  sixpence,  which  is 
twelve  and  one-half  cents  more. 

Where  is  your  cheapness  now  ?  If  you  have  a  square,  appe- 
tite-satisfying, strength-giving  meal,  it  has  cost  you  twice  as 
much  as  it  would  in  New  York,  with  the  difference  that  in 
New  York  it  would  be  decently  cooked,  decently  served,  and 
done  with  a  sort  of  breadth  that  makes  it  a  luxury  to  eat, 
while  here  it  is  so  hampered  about  with  extras  and  charges 
for  mmute  things  —  things  which  in  America  are  free  to  every- 
body —  that  eating  is  reduced  to  a  mere  commercial  basis  and 
has  no  comfort  in  it. 

The  hotels  are  simply  infamous  in  their  charges.  You  agree 
to  pay  so  much  per  day  for  your  rooms,  and  it  looks  tolerably 
cheap,  but  you  discover  your  mistake  at  the  close  of  the  first 
week,  when  you  come  to  settle  your  bill.  Though  you  have 
never  touched  your  bell  and  have  never  seen  the  face  of  a 
servant,  you  are  charged  so  much  a  day  for  "  attendance,"  you 
are  charged  for  light,  for  fires.  If  you  have  ordered  a  bit  of 
anything,  no  matter  how  infinitesimal,  it  is  there,  and  these 
charges  make  up  a  bill  larger  than  your  room  rent. 

There  is  no  use  in  remonstrating,  nor  in  threatening  to 
leave.  You  know,  and  the  landlord  knows  a  great  deal  better, 
that  no  matter  where  you  go  it  will  be  the  same,  and  so  sub- 


62  NASBY    m    EXILE.  * 

mittmg  to  the  inevitable,  you  draw  a  draft  for  more  money, 
and  settle  down  to  be  cheated  in  peace. 

The  lodging  houses  are  quite  as  bad,  only  of  course  in  a 
smaller  way.  Your  accommodations  are  less,  and  the  swindle 
less,  but  the  proportion  is  very  carefully  observed. 

Clothing  is  somewhat  cheaper  than  in  America,  but  never- 
theless let  me  warn  the  intending  comer  against  buying  it 
here.  You  may  buy  cloths,  if  you  choose,  and  pay  duty  on 
them  and  take  them  home,  but  never  let  a  London  tailor  or 
dressmaker  profane  your  person,  be  you  man  or  woman.  The 
Creator  never  made  either  for  a  London  tailor  to  mar.  He 
has  too  much  respect  for  His  handiwork.  I  have  been  here 
now  two  weeks,  and  have  yet  to  see  a  native  Englishman  or  a 
tailor-spoiled  American  who  was  well-dressed.  The  English 
tailor  has  no  more  idea  of  style  than  a  pig  has  of  the  revised 
Testament.  You  can  tell  an  Anierican  a  square  off  by  the  cut 
of  his  coat,  and  an  American  woman  by  the  very  hang  of  her 
dress.  The  English  tailor  looks  at  you  wisely,  and  takes  a 
measurement  or  two,  and  puts  his  shears  into  the  cloth.  The 
result  is  a  sort  of  a  square  abortion,  loose  where  it  should  be 
close,  close  where  it  should  be  wide,  long  where  it  should  be 
short  and  short  where  it  should  be  long,  and  the  poor  victim 
takes  it  and  is  miserable  till  time  releases  him  from  it. 

The  majority  of  English  women  are  dowdies,  and  by  the 
way  they  have  immense  feet  and  hands.  They  are  excellent 
wives,  mothers  and  sisters,  but  their  extremities  are  something 
frightful.  They  do  have  delightful  complexions  though,  and 
are  as  bright  and  good  as  they  can  be. 

Speaking  of  the  feet  of  English  women  reminds  me  of  Cap- 
tain McFadden,  of  Pittsburgh.  The  dear  old  Captain  —  he  is 
dead  and  gone  now  these  many  a  year  —  in  addition  to  being 
one  of  the  best  river  men  that  Pittsburgh  could  boast  of,  was 
also, —  think  of  it, —  a  poultry  fancier.  When  the  fancy  for 
Shanghais  broke  out  the  Captain  joined  in  it,  as  he  did  in 
everything  in  the  fowl  way,  and  he  paid  cheerfully  twenty- 
five  dollars  for  a  half-dozen  eggs  of  the  famous  breed,  which 
he  immediately  put  under  a  hen  that  was  in  a  setting  mood. 
But  Captain  McFadden  had  a  son  who  was  without  reverence 
either  for  his  father  or  poultry.     Young  Jim  McFadden  went 


A    PITTSBURGH    REMINISCENCE. 


53 


and  bought  a  half-dozen  duck's  eggs  and  removed  the  Shang- 
hais and  put  the  duck's  eggs  under  the  hen,  the  said  hen  not 
knowing  or  caring  whether  she  was  hatching  the  common 


•'JIM,  MY  BOY,  AND  IS  THEM  THE  SHANGHAIS?  LUK  AT  THEIR  PUTS  ! 
HEVENS,  JIM." 

duck  or  the  royal  Shanghai.  In  time  its  labors  were  accom- 
plished and  Captain  McFadden  was  viewing  the  resultant 
ducklings,  with  Jim  laughing  in  his  sleeve  as  he  looked  on. 

"  Jim,  me  boy,  and  is  them  the  Shanghais  ?  Luk  at  their 
futs !  Hevens,  Jim,  luk  at  their  futs.  All  h — 1  wouldn't  up- 
trup  em." 


54:  KASBY    IN    EXILE. 

I  can't  imagine  anything  that  would  "up-trup"  an  English 
woman.  But  as  small  feet  and  hands  are  not  essential  to 
salvation  I  forgive  them  this.  They  can't  help  it.  I  presume 
they  would  if  they  could,  but  they  are  so  kindly,  so  hospitable, 
so  bright  and  pleasing  generally,  that  I  shut  my  eyes  gladly 
to  their  feet,  and  their  bad  taste  in  dress,  and  accept  it  all 
without  a  word. 

Still  I  wish  they  could  pare  down  their  feet.  Then  an 
English  woman  Avould  be  the  simple  perfection  of  nature's 
most  perfect  work.  I  can't  help  thinking,  however,  that  when 
your  hostess's  shoe  is  —  but  never  mind.  Their  kindliness  and 
their  cheery  laughs  and  their  never  failing  good  humor  are 
admirable  substitutes  for  small  feet.  Feet  are  not  the  whole 
of  life. 

You  see  soldiers  about  London.  They  are  as  common  as 
mosquitos  in  New  Jersey,  and  to  me  just  about  as  offensive. 
They  are  everywhere.  Go  where  you  will,  you  see  a  tall 
fellow^  in  a  blue  or  scarlet,  or  some  other  colored  uniform,  with 
an  absurd  little  cap  on  his  head,  to  which  is  attached  a  leather 
strap  which  comes  down  to  his  lower  lip,  to  keep  the  absurd 
little  cap  in  place.  He  has  sometimes  a  sword  hanging  to 
him,  and  sometimes  not,  but  he  is  a  soldier  all  the  same. 
England  has  need  of  a  great  many  soldiers.  In  London  they 
are  used  as  a  sort  of  show,  as  walking  advertisements  of  the 
power  and  strength  of  the  Government,  and  to  make  the 
picture  of  royalty  complete. 

As  soldiers  don't  cost  much  here,  it  is  a  luxury  royalty  can 
afford  a  great  deal  of.  The  ordinary  soldier  gets  twenty-five 
cents  a  day,  and  his  rations,  and  after  twenty-one  years  service, 
if  rum  and  beer  and  bullets  —  the  two  first  are  the  most 
dangerous  —  have  not  finished  him,  he  becomes  a  pensioner, 
which  means  he  puts  on  a  red  coat  and  eats  three  times  a  day 
in  a  sort  of  hospital,  all  the  rest  of  his  life. 

The  army  is  recruited  largely  from  Ireland  and  the  poorer 
districts  of  England  and  Scotland.  It  is  about  the  last  thing 
an  Englishman  or  Irishman  does,  but  various  causes  keep  the 
ranks  full  without  conscription.  Women  are  the  best  recruit- 
ing officers  the  Queen  has.  It  is  the  regular  thing  for  a  young 
fellow  who  has  been  jilted  to  go  and  enlist.     He  thinks  he 


A    KED-COATED    ROMANCE.  55 

will  make  the  girl  feel  badly.  But  it  doesn't.  She  rather 
prides  herself  upon  the  number  of  young  fellows  she  has  given 
the  army,  and  when  the  time  comes  to  marry  and  settle  down, 
she  goes  and  marries,  and  laughs  at  them  all. 

Poverty  is  another  very  active  and  efficient  recruiting 
sergeant.  A  young  fellow  comes  down  to  "  Lunnon  "  to  seek 
his  fortune,  equipped  with  a  few  pounds  and  his  mother's 
blessing.  He  finds  London  quite  different  from  what  he 
expected.  He  discovers  it  to  be  a  very  hard  and  cruel  place, 
with  more  mouths  than  bread,  and  more  hands  than  work. 
He  lives  as  closely  as  he  can,  but,  as  meagerly  as  he  lives,  his 
pounds  melt  into  shillings  and  his  shillings  into  pence.  And 
finally,  when  his  last  penny  is  gone,  and  hunger  is  upon  him, 
he  takes  the  Queen's  shilling,  and  the  next  thing  his  mother 
hears  of  him,  he  is  fighting  the  Boers  in  South  Africa.  And 
once  a  soldier,  always  a  soldier.  The  life  unfits  a  man  for  any 
other,  and  when  he  has  once  worn  a  uniform,  he  never  wears 
anything  else. 

As  I  said,  women  are  the  best  recruiting  sergeants.  I  got 
into  a  conversation  with  one  very  handsome  young  fellow  who 
had  been  in  the  service  only  a  year,  who  told  me  his  little 
story.  He  is  the  son  of  a  small  farmer  in  Scotland  somewhere, 
with  an  unpronounceable  name,  where  it  doesn't  matter.  He 
had  been  in  love  with  a  pretty  daughter  of  a  widow  near  by 
from  the  time  he  was  a  boy,  and  the  girl  professed  to  be,  and 
doubtless  was,  in  love  with  him,  but  as  she  grew  up  she  made 
the  discovery  that  she  was  very  handsome  (what  woman  does 
not  ? ),  and  she  found  that  that  beauty  attracted  others  beside 
poor  Jamie.  Other  swains  in  the  neighborhood  laid  siege  to 
her,  and  she,  exulting  in  her  power  over  the  young  fellows, 
and  being  unquestionably  the  belle  of  the  neighborhood,  made 
it  very  uncomfortable  for  her  real  lover,  to  Avhom  she  was 
betrothed. 

Sore  were  the  conflicts  between  them.  The  girl  dehghted 
in  annoying  him,  for  she  was  as  wilful  and  cruel  as  she  Avas 
beautiful.  She  would  dance  with  the  others,  and  she  would 
flirt  with  them  to  the  point  of  driving  the  poor  man  mad,  and 
then,  just  at  the  nick  of  time,  she  had  a  trick  of  coming  back 
to  him,  and  for  a  time  being  as  sweet  as  possible,  and  so  for 


66  NASBY    IN   EXILE. 

several  years  she  kept  him  alternating  between  the  seventh 
heaven  of  happiness,  and  the  lowest  depths  of  a  hell  upon 
earth. 

There  was  one  fellow  in  the  neighborhood  as  much  smitten 
with  her  as  Jamie,  who  was  determined  to  marry  her,  whether 
or  no.  He  was  a  well-to-do  young  man,  who  had  a  farm  of 
his  own,  and  being  quite  as  good-looking  and  more  enterpris- 
ing than  Jamie,  was  a  most  dangerous  rival  to  the  hapless 
youth.  Jennie  had  dismissed  all  the  others,  but  with  the  per- 
versity that  seems  to  be  an  infallible  accompaniment  to  beauty, 
she  persisted  in  receiving  the  attention  of  this  man. 

Finally  it  came  to  a  head.  Jamie  insisted  that  she  should 
not  see  him  any  more,  and  he  insisted  upon  it  with  an  earnest- 
ness that  affected  the  girl,  and  she  made  a  solemn  promise  thal7 
she  never  would  see  him  again. 

It  so  happened  that  the  very  next  day  after  this  promise 
was  asked  and  given,  Jamie  was  to  leave  for  Glasgow  on  busi- 
ness, and  he  started  early  the  next  morning.  He  had  n't  got 
to  the  railroad  station  before  his  mind  misgave  him.  Some- 
thing worried  him.  He  had  slept  all  the  night  comfortably  on 
her  promise,  but  something  told  him  that  she  did  not  intend 
to  keep  it,  and  that  something  preyed  upon  him  to  the  degree 
that  instead  of  proceeding  on  his  journey  he  turned  about  and 
walked  back. 

She  knew  that  he  was  gomg  to  be  gone  a  week,  and  the 
other  man  knew  it  also.  If  she  intended  to  play  him  false? 
this  was  her  opportunity,  and  he  would  know  for  certain,  and 
set  his  mind  at  ease. 

Poor  devil !  It  would  have  been  better  had  he  proceeded 
on  his  journey.  For  if  he  had  known  anything  he  would 
have  known  that  if  a  woman  wanted  to  deceive  him,  watching 
her  would  amount  to  nothing.  The  devil  is  very  lavish  of 
opportunities,  that  being  all  that  he  has  to  do,  and  simple 
human  nature  is  certain  to  avail  itself  of  them  ;  but  Jamie 
was  not  a  philosopher,  or  a  very  bright  man.  He  was  a  sim- 
ple Scotch  lad,  frightfully  in  love  with  a  wilful  and  perverse 
beauty. 

But  he  did  go  back,  and  he  concealed  himself  near  her 
cottage,  where  he  could  watch  unobserved,  hoping,  in  a  des- 


HOW    IT    ENDED.  57 

perate  sort  of  way,  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself,  but 
rather  certain  that  he  had  not. 

And  sure  enough,  along  toward  evening  his  rival  made  his 
appearance  sauntering  down  the  road,  and  sure  enough  he  had 
no  sooner  appeared  in  the  road  than  Jennie,  as  if  by  accident, 
appeared,  and  the  two  talked  across  the  little  gate  in  front, 
very  earnestly,  she  in  a  mixed  sort  of  way. 

And  Jamie,  full  of  rage  at  what  he  believed  to  be  a 
betrayal,  and  desperate  on  general  principles,  sallied  out  and 
attacked  his  man,  and  after  a  fearful  struggle  left  him 
almost  dead  on  the  ground,  and  despite  Jennie's  tearful  asser- 
tions that  she  had  seen  him  only  to  tell  him  that  he  must  not 
follow  her  any  more,  as  she  would  henceforth  and  forever 
have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  him,  Jamie,  who  didn't 
believe  a  word  of  it,  announced  his  intention  of  enlisting,  and 
started  off  toward  the  station  again. 

Jennie  followed  him,  for  it  appears  the  girl's  story  was 
true,  and  she,  coquette  as  she  was,  did  love  him,  but  she  arrived 
too  late.  He  had  taken  the  fatal  plunge,  and  was  in  the 
Queen's  uniform. 

"And  Jennie  ?"  I  asked. 

Jennie  was  in  London  in  service.  She  would  not  stay  at 
home  after  he  left,  and  she  came  to  town  where  she  could  see 
him  at  times,  and  things  were  so  arranged  between  them  that 
when  his  term  should  expire  they  were  to  marry  and  go  back 
and  settle  down  upon  the  old  place  and  be  happy  for  evermore. 

If  his  regiment  should  be  ordered  upon  foreign  duty,  she 
would  manage  somehow  to  accompany  him.  Anyhow,  ,she 
was  entirely  cured  of  flirting,  rightly  concluding  that  one  true 
man  is  enough  for  one  woman,  and  he  was  equally  soundly 
cured  of  jealousy,  though  it  must  be  admitted  that  he  had 
sufficient  cause  therefor. 

And  so  ends  a  red-coated  romance. 


CHAPTEE  III,  • 

THE    DEKBY    RACES,    WITH    SOME    OTHER   THINGS. 

HoESE-RAciNG  in  America  is  not  considered  the  most  excit- 
ing, or,  for  that  matter,  the  roost  reputable  business  in  the 
world.  A  horsey  man,  except  in  New  York,  is  not  looked 
upon  with  much  favor,  being,  as  a  rule,  and  I  suppose  justly, 
regarded  as  a  modified  and  somewhat  toned  down  black-leg. 

I  never  ventured  money  upon  but  one  race.  I  shall  never 
forget  it,  for  it  was  my  first  and  last  experience. 

It  was  many  years  ago,  ere  time  had  whitened  my  locks, 
and  had  set  the  seal  of  age  in  my  face  in  the  form  of  wrinkles. 
It  is  needless  to  say  I  was  as  immature  mentally  as  physically, 
or  what  is  to  follow  would  not  have  occurred. 

There  was  a  horseman  in  the  county  in  Ohio  in  which  I 
was  living  named  Carpenter  —  Sol.  Carpenter.  Every  horse- 
man's given  name  is  abbreviated,  the  same  as  a  negro  minstrel's. 
Carpenter  was  the  possessor  of  many  horses  which  he  used  in 
racing,  but  he  had  one,  "  Nero,"  which  commanded  the  confi- 
dence of  all  the  sporting  men  for  miles  around.  In  a  mile  race 
he  had  never  been  beaten,  and  there  were  wild  rumors,  which 
obtained  credence,  that  he  had  won  a  four-mile  race  in  Ken- 
tucky (which  at  that  time  was  the  starting  point  for  all  the 
running  horses),  and  that  Sol.  \vas  holding  him  back  for  some 
great  master-stroke  of  turf  business. 

Presently  there  appeared  in  Greenfield  —  Sol.  lived  in  Ply- 
mouth—  a  horse  named  "Calico,"  which  the  owner  intimated 
could  lay  out "  Nero,"  without  an}^  particular  trouble  or  worry. 
Carpenter  laughed  the  man  to  scorn  —  his  name  was  Pete 
Scobey  —  and  promptly  challenged  him  for  a  mile  dash,  two 
best  in  three. 

(58) 


AN    AMERICAN    HOKSE    CONTEST.  59 

Scobey  accepted  the  challenge  and  the  date  was  fixed. 
There  was  the  wildest  possible  excitement  in  Plymouth.  Green- 
field did  not  share  in  it.  as  there  were  no  horsemen  there,  the 
village  consisting  of  one  Presbyterian  Chm^ch,  a  dry  goods 
store,  and  a  blacksmith  shop.  But  Plymouth  absolutely  boiled. 
Carpenter  poured  oil  upon  the  fire  by  confidentially  assuring 
everybody  that  "Nero''  could  get  away  with  "Calico"  with- 
out the  slightest  trouble;  that  he  knew  "Calico"  like  a  book, 
and  kncAv  exactly  what  he  could  do,  and  if  the  people  of  Ply- 
mouth were  wise,  they  would  impoverish  Greenfield,  or  rather 
the  ISJ'orwalk  parties,  who  were  to  back  "  Calico." 

His  advice  was  taken  Every  man  in  Plymouth  who  could 
raise  a  dollar  Avent  to  that  race  at  Greenfield  and  staked  his 
money  on  "  Nero,"  on  Carpenter's  assurance  as  well  as  their 
own  confidence.  There  was  nobody  doing  much  betting  on 
^'  Calico,"  except  Mr.  Scobey  and  one  or  two  others,  and  they 
held  off  at  first,  which  gave  Plymouth  more  confidence.  So 
eager  were  we  to  despoil  the  adverse  faction  that  we  gave 
great  odds,  all  of  which  Mr.  Scobey  and  his  confreres  took, 
finally,  Avith  a  calm  confidence  that  should  have  taught  us 
better.  But  it  didn't.  I  remember  that  I  Avagered  every 
dollar  I  had  Avith  me,  and  some  more  that  Mr.  Carpenter 
kindly  lent  me,  taking  my  note,  and  in  addition  to  this  a  six- 
teen-dollar  silver  watch. 

The  first  heat  Avas  Avon  by  "  Xero,"  easily,  and  Mr.  Carpen- 
ter Aviriked  to  Plymouth  to  make  another  assault  upon  the 
purses  of  Greenfield.  We  did  it.  We  gaA^e  even  greater  odds 
than  before,  which  Mr.  Scobey  required,  as  he  admitted  that 
his  chances  Avere  very  slim. 

"  But,"  he  remarked,  "  I  Avill  bet  one  to  ten  on  anything." 

To  our  surprise  the  second  heat  was  won  by  "  Calico,"  by 
just  about  a  head.  Then  Mr.  Scobey  offered  to  take  even  bets, 
and  he  would  have  got  a  great  many  but  for  the  fact  that 
Plymouth  had  staked  her  entire  Avealth  already. 

The  next  and  decisive  heat  Avas  run.  It  Avas  closely  con- 
tested. Each  horse  seemingly  did  his  best,  and  the  jockeys 
seemed  to  ride  properly.  Alas  for  Plymouth !  "  Calico"  Avon, 
as  he  did  the  second  heat,  by  just  a  head. 

The  indignation  of  Mr.  Carpenter  kncAV  no  bounds.     He 


60 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


grasped  his  jockey  by  the  neck  and  pulled  him  from  the  horse, 
and  accused  him  of  giving  away  the  race,  and  he  stormed 
about  the  track  very  like  a  madman. 

"Pete,"  he  said  fhially,  "Nero  kin  beat  that  cart  horse  of 
yours  ez  easy  ez  winkin.     I'll  run  yoo  two  weeks  from  to-day 


-S^^v^^ 


SOL  CxVRPENTER  AND  THE  GREENFIELD  RACE. 


at  Plymouth  for  two  hundred  dollars  a  side,  and  I'll  hev  a 
rider  that  won't  sell  out  to  yoo." 

"Jest  ez  you  please,  Mr.  Carpenter.  It's  easy  enough  to 
charge  up  a  poor  horse  to  the  account  of  a  rider.  Here's  the 
boodle." 

And  so  another  race  was  arranged,  and  Mr.  Carpenter  went 


DEPARTUKE  FOR  THE  DERBY.  61 

among  us  and  assured  that  his  own  son  should  ride  the  next 
time,  and  there  would  be  no  trouble  about  it. 

We  consulted  all  the  next  week,  and  Mr.  Scobey  was 
approached  on  the  subject.  Mr.  Scobey  assured  us  that  he 
know  "ISTero,"  and  knew  his  own  horse.  "Kero"  was  good 
for  a  long  race,  but  for  a  dash  of  a  mile  "  Calico  "  could  get 
away  with  him  every  time.  We  shared  Mr.  Scobey's  opinion, 
and  to  Mr.  Carpenter's  disgust,  Plymouth  wagered  all  the 
money  it  could  raise  upon  "  Calico."  It  requires  but  few 
words  to  state  the  result.  "  Calico  "  won  the  first  heat  easily, 
and  "  Nero  "  w^on  the  other  two  just  as  easily,  and  Plymouth 
was  again  bankrupt. 

And  then  one  of  the  riders  who  was  disappointed  in  his 
share  of  the  plunder,  came  to  the  front  and  made  known  what, 
if  we  had  not  been  an  entire  menagerie  of  asses,  we  might 
have  known  in  advance,  that  Mr.  Carpenter  and  Mr.  Scobey 
were  in  partnership,  and  that  "  Calico "  was  a  horse  hired 
from  Cleveland  for  the  occasion,  and  that  it  was  a  ver}^  ingen- 
ious scheme  put  up  by  Mr.  Carpenter  to  victimize  his  neigh- 
bors, and  that  out  of  the  speculation  the  two  had  made  a  very 
nice  lot  of  money. 

I  don't  pretend  to  say  that  this  has  anything  to  do  with 
the  Derby,  but  it  illustrates  the  morals  of  the  turf  so  well  that 
I  could  not  help  putting  it  upon  paper.  •  Racing  is  about  the 
same  thing  everywhere,  except  upon  Epsom  Downs.  These 
races  are  conducted  fairly,  for  they  are  under  the  patronage 
of  men  to  whom  the  honor  of  owning  a  winning  horse  is  more 
than  any  amount  of  money  that  can  possibly  be  won.  The 
English  noblemen  Avant  this  honor,  and  they  spend  fabulous 
amounts  of  money  to  attain  it.  I  won't  say  that  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  would  have  exchanged  Waterloo  for  the  Derby, 
but  I  do  say  that  if  after  Waterloo  he  could  have  had  a  horse 
capable  of  taking  the  prize,  he  would  have  died  better  satisfied 
with  himself. 

Thirty  Americans  were  in  the  party  that,  on  the  morning 
of  the  first  of  June,  left  the  American  Exchange  at  Charing 
Cross  for  Epsom  Downs.  It  was  a  very  jolly  party,  and  none 
of  the  accompaniments  were  forgotten.  An  Englishman  does 
nothing  without  a  great  plenty  of  eating  and  drinking,  and  so 


62 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


the  inside  of  one  of  the  immense  omnibusses  — "  breaks  "  they 
call  them  —  was  filled  with  great  hampers  of  lunch,  and  wine, 
and  things  of  that  nature. 

As  early  as  it  was  all  the  avenues  leading  to  the  Downs 
were  literally  packed  with  conveyances,  to  say  nothing  of  the 


LEAVING  FOR  THE  DERBY. 


railroad  trains  which  passed  in  quick  succession,  and  such  a 
motley  procession !  There  were  lords  and  ladies,  merchants 
and  clerks,  prostitutes  and  gamblers,  workingmen  and  beg- 
gars, sewing-girls  and  bar-maids, —  in  fact  every  sort  and  con- 
dition of  people,  who  had  for  one  day  thrown  care  to  the 
winds  and  were  on  pleasure  bent. 

The  roads  swarmed  with  vehicles,  and  there  was  as  much 
of  a  surprise  in  the  variety  as  in  the  number.  There  was  My 
Lord  in  his  dog  cart,  or,  if  a  family  man,  in  his  gorgeous  car- 
riage, which  does  not  differ  materially  from  the  American  open 


SIGHTS    AND    SCENES.  63 

barouche,  save  in  the  accommodations  for  the  everlasting 
flunkies  behind,  without  which  no  English  establishment  is 
complete.  Then  came  the  swarm  of  hansoms  —  which  is  a 
two-wheeled  vehicle^  with  a  calash  top  to  it,  carrying  the  driver 
on  a  high  perch  behind  —  the  army  of  omnibusses,  the  tops 
covered  with  chaffing  people,  and  the  inside  full  of  more  sober 
ones,  and  add  to  these  every  variety  of  vehicle  to  which  an 
animal  can  be  attached,  that  would  carry  a  human  being,  and 
you  have  some  faint  idea  of  the  appearance  of  the  roads  lead- 
ing to  Epsom  Downs  on  the  1st  of  June,  A.  D.  1881. 

It  was  rather  amusing  than  otherwise  to  note  two  Jiinds  of 
vehicles  and  the  people  they  hauled.  They  have  in  London  a 
little  pony,  not  much  larger  than  a  good-sized  Newfoundland 
dog,  extensively  used  by  costermongers  and  that  class  of 
tradesmen  to  deliver  goods.  A  half  of  these  in  London 
were  at  the  Derby,  hitched  to  a  two-wheeled  cart  of  twice 
their  size,  and  seven  heavy  men  and  women  would  be  packed 
therein,  and  this  little  mite  bowled  them  along  at  a  good 
pace,  without  being  worried.  Ther6  were  literally  thousands 
of  them  upon  the  roads,  the  pony  pulling  his  heavy  load,  and 
seeming  to  enjoy  the  sport  as  much  as  those  he  was  hauling. 
He  was  having  a  holiday,  and  his  holiday  was  much  like  a 
human  one,  very  hard  worK. 

The  donkey  is  another  English  institution.  He  is  not  as 
large  as  the  pony,  but  what  enormous  loads  he  will  pull,  and 
what  a  slight  amount  of  food  he  requires.  He  will  br-eakfast 
on  a  tin  tomato  can,  and  relish  a  circus  poster  for  dinner.  He 
is  a  patient  little  brute,  and  bears  his  loads  as  meekly  as  the 
English  laborer  does  his,  and  in  just  about  the  same  way. 

As  we  leave  the  city  the  crowd  of  vehicles  and  pedestrians 
becomes  denser  and  denser.  At  the  point  where  all  the  streets 
out  of  the  city  meet  the  throng  becomes  more  than  immense, 
it  is  terrific.  The  drivers  of  the  vehicles,  skillful  as  tliey  are, 
liave  difficulty  in  guiding  their  teams,  whether  it  be  the  pre- 
tentious four-in-hand,  or  the  humble  donkey-cart,  through  the 
mass,  though  they  did  it,  and  without  an  accident. 

And  now  the  fun  begins  ;  that  is,  the  English  fun.  Troops 
of  fantastics,  with  false  faces,  spring  up,  the  Lord  knows  from 
where,  or  for  what  purpose,  unless  it  be  to  blow  piercing  horns 


64: 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


and  beat  toy  drums  for  their  own  amusement.  On  one  side 
just  over  a  hedge,  an  admiring  party  are  witnessing  a  boxing 
match  between  two  yokels,  who  are  giving  and  taking  real 
blows  in  dead  earnest,  while  just  beyond  is  a  Punch  and  Judy 
show,  which  always  has  been  popular  in  England,  and  will  be 
to  the  end  of  time.  All  along  the  dusty  road  are  men  over 
come  with  liquor,  sleeping  the  sleep  that  only  the  drunkard 
knows,  with  faces  up- 
turned to  the  hot  sun. 
They  are  perfectly 
safe,  and  will  not  be 
disturbed.  Every  Eng- 
lishman o;  the  lower 
class  ioiows  all  about 
it,  and  as  for  robbery, 
all  that  he  has  on  him 
could  n't  be  pawned 
for  a  penny.  "Next  to 
the  boxing  match  was 
a  street  preaoher  of 
some  denomination , 
armed  with  his  testa- 
ment and  hymn-book, 
"  holding  forth "  to  a 
throng  constantly  coming  and  going.  I  didn't  hear  this  one, 
for  we  were  too  much  on  pleasure  bent  to  stop  for  a  sermon, 
be  it  ever  so  good  or  our  need  for  it  ever  so  great.  But  I  did 
hear  one  on  the  grounds,  and  a  curious  sermon  it  was.  There 
was  no  Miss  fancying  about  that  preacher.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  win  his  hearers  by  depicting  the  delights  of  a  heaven 
for  piety  on  this  earth,  not  any.  He  knew  his  hearers  too 
well.  The  lower  grade  Englishman  might  try  to  be  good  to 
escape  a  hell,  but  no  one  ever  conceived  a  heaven  that  would 
win  him.  His  idea  of  a  heaven  is  a  pot-house,  with  plenty  of 
beer,  and  bread  and  cheese,  and  nothing  to  do.  And  so  the 
preacher  sang  the  hymn: —         * 

"  My  thoughts  on  awful  subjects  roll, 
Damnation  and  the  dead," 

In  which  his  audience  joined,  some  devoutly  and  some  jeeringly. 


BY  THE  ROAD-SIDE. 


THE    EOAD-SIDE    EVANGELIST.  65 

And  he  pictured  hell  in  such  lurid  colors  as  to  frighten  the 
most  hardened.  He  had  no  fancy  for  a  hell,  such  as  American 
clergymen  talk  about,  which  consists  merely  in  being  deprived 
of  the  company  of  angels  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  but  he  had 
a  substantial,  real  hell,  with  actual  fire  and  brimstone  and  real 
devils  with  red  hot  pitch-forks,  toasting  and  gridling  sinners, 
and  rivers  of  fire,  and  perpetual  torments  of  this  cheerful  kind, 
forever  and  forever.     That  was  the  kind  of  a  hell  he  had. 

It  had  its  effect.  One  man  who  stood  listening,  with  his 
wife,  said  to  her  as  they  turned  away  : 

''  Weel,  Jenny,  'ell  is  a  hawful  thing,  I  don't  knaw  but 
what  I'll  turn  around  and  do  better,  hafter  to-morrow." 

And  the  wife  assenting  to  this  proposition  they  went  to 
the  nearest  beer  place  and  buried  their  countenances  and  their 
consciences,  or  their  fright  rather,  in  pots  of  beer  that  would 
swamp  the  most  seasoned  American,  and  a  few  moments  after 
were  dancing  like  mad  in  a  booth  constructecl  for  the  purpose. 

Except  there  be  a  special  dispensation  this  party  will  never 
repent,  and  if  there  be  such  a  hell  as  the  preacher  described 
they  will  find  it.  Their  to-morrow  for  becoming  good,  like 
everybody  else's,  will  never  come.  The  negro  who,  when 
asked  why,  in  view  of  the  punishment  that  must  follow  his 
sinful  life,  he  would  continue  in  his  evil  courses,  replied  : — 

"  Boss,  de  great  comfort  and  'scurity  I  has,  is  in  a  deff-bed 
'Dentance." 

"  But  suppose  you  die  too  suddenly  to  repent  ? " 

"  Boss,  I  alluz  keeps  myseff  ready  for  'pentance." 

The  road  down  is  lined  with  public  houses,  little  quaint  inns 
in  which  nobody  sleeps,  but  which  are  devoted  exclusively  to 
the  selling  of  beer  and  spirits.  At  each  of  these  half  the 
vehicles  stopped,  and  the  scenes  about  them  were  curious,  if 
not  altogether  enjoyable.  The  only  business  done  inside  was 
the  drawing  and  drinking  of  beer,  and  outside  —  heaven  help 
an  American  —  negro  minstrelsy.  Imagine  three  cockneys 
burnt  corked,  and  dressed  in  trowsers  striped  in  imitation  of 
the  American  flag,  with  long  blue  striped  coats  and  red  vests, 
one  playing  the  banjo,  another  the  concertina,  and  the  third 
doing  the  silver  sand  clog,  with  that  peculiar  soul-depressing, 
spirit-quenching  expression  that  all  clog  dancers  wear  habitu- 
5 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


ally.     A  clog  dance  on  a  stage  in  a  hall  is  sufficiently  depress- 
ing to  send  a  middle-aged  man  home  to  make  his  will,  but 


iilii^SP^^' 


ENGLISH  NEGRO  MINSTRELSY. 

imagine  it  done  by  an  Englishman  on  a  board  outside  an  inn, 
on  a  hot  day,  so  hot  that  the  perspiration  streaming  down  his 


THE   ROADSIDE    REPAST. 


67 


face  washed  the  burnt  cork  out  in  streaks,  and  then  when  this 
doleful  performance  was  finally  accomplished,  think  of  a  negro 
melody  sung  in  the  genuine  cockney  dialect,  and  accepted  as  a 
correct  representation  of  the  American  African.  By  the  way, 
in  a  first-class  music  hall  I  heard  an  English  minstrel  use  the 
word  "  nothink,"  and  misplace  his  li's  as  fluently  as  the  most 
accomplished  shopman.  But  the  un-enlightened  Englishman 
who  had  never  heard  the  rich,  mellow  tones  of  the  genuine 
African  didn't  know  any  better,  and  so  it  was  as  well.  People 
who  love  minstrels}^  deserve  nothing  better. 

.By  this  time  it  was  noon,  and  the  sun  was  blazing  hot. 
But  the  sun  doesn't  mean  as  much  on  English  roads  as  it  does 
on  American.  England  is  some  centuries  old,  and  the 
roads  are  bordered  on  either  side  with  immense  trees,  the 
hedges  afford  a  grateful  shade,  and  he  who  cannot  find  a 
delightful  seat  upon  the  soft  grass  is  very  har.d  to  please. 
Exactly  at  noon  the  thousands  of  humble  folk,  the  pony  and 
donkey-cart  people,  stopped  and  unharnessed  their  diminutive 
power,  and  permitted  it  to  crop  the  grass,  while  they  unloaded 
those  wonderful  hampers,  and  spread  them  upon  the  grass  and 
ate  and  drank.     There  was  the  boiled  ham,  the  great  masses 


THE  ROADSIDE  REPAST. 

of  very  bad  bread  made  from  the  cheapest  and  worst  American 
flour,  the  pot  of  mustard,  and  the  inevitable  bottle  of  beer. 
They  sat  under  the  delicious  shade,  men,  women  and  children, 
and  ate  and  drank  and  chaffed,  and  seemed  to  be  enjoying 
themselves. 

I  think  they  all  did  enjoy  themselves,  except  the  women. 


bo  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

The  children  got  more  to  eat  than  they  did  other  days,  so  they 
were  satisfied ;  the  men,  great  hulking  fellows,  gorged  them- 
selves, and  were  pleased  because  they  were  full  of  beer,  but 
the  poor  women  had  the  children  to  care  for,  and  that  ought 
to  have  been  enough  to  have  destroyed  all  the  pleasure  there 
was  in  it  to  them.     For  be  it  understood,  no  English  laborer's 
wife  ever  leaves  her  children  at  home  on  holiday  occasions. 
There  are  two  reasons  for  this.     One  is  there  is  nobody  to 
leave  them  with,  and  the  other  is  there  is  a  vague  idea  that  it 
is  a  part  of  a  child's  education  to  know  all  about  beer  and 
public  houses   from  its   very   beginning.     Therefore,   almost 
every  woman  on  that  road  to  the  Derby,  had  from  one  to  four 
children  with  her,  the  youngest  very  frequently  being  at  the 
very  tender  age  of  a  month.     The  husbands  always  permit  the 
mother  to  assume  the  entire  charge  of  the  youngsters,  and  the 
wives  accept-  the  situation  uncomplainingly.     They  carry  the 
"  brats,"  as  the  fathers  delicately  style  their  offspring,  and  the 
small  woman  with  a  healthy  baby  in  her  arms,  keeping  three 
others  in  tow,  under  a  hot  sun,  must  have  an  amusing  time  of 
it.     But  they  seem  to  like  it,  and  I  don't  know  as  it  is  any  of 
my  business.     Only  I  am  rejoiced  that  the  venerable    Miss 
Susan  B.  Anthony  don't  know  how  the  lower-grade  English- 
man treats  his  wife.     Could  she  see  what  I  have  seen  she 
would  start  upon  another  lecturing  tour,  as  ancient  as  she  is. 
One    peculiarity   strikes    an    American  —  everything    has 
its  price,  which  is  rigorously  exacted.     Everything  is  fenced 
up   and    the    slightest   accommodation   has   to    be   paid  for. 
Do  you  want  a  glass  of  water?     It  is  given   you,  and  you 
drink   and   set  the  glass   down.     Immediately   the    man   or 
woman  who  handed  it  to  you  remarks  quietly,  but  with  a  tone 
that  admits  of  no  question :     "  Penny,  sir ! "     You  pay  it,  for 
it  is  the  custom  of  the  country,     It  isn't  for  the  water,  but  for 
the  handing  it  to  you.     At  every  gate  stands  a  man  who  asks 
for  his  penny  as  he  opens  it,  and  he  gets  it.     It  got  to  that 
point  with  me,  that  when  I  felt  a  breeze  striking  my  face  and 
I  got  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  I  instinctively  turned  around  to  see 
to  whom  I  should  give  the  inevitable  penny.     Air  is  the  only 
thing   that  is  not  charged   for,  and  if  there  were  any  way 
of  fencing  that  in  and  selling  it,  it  would  be  done  immediately. 
I  remonstrated  mildly  at  paying  for  a  very  simple  service,  for 


ON    THE    FIELD.  69 

which  in  no  country  I  was  ever  in  would  a  fee  be  demanded, 
but  I  was  silenced  instantly. 

"  It  helps  me  make  a  day's  wages,  sir,  and  it  won't  break 
you,  sir,"  was  the  very  prompt  answer. 

I  never  dared  to  object  again,  but  whenever  I  asked  a 
question  I  offered  the  penny,  and  I  did  not  find  any  one  too 
proud  to  take  it. 

Finally  Ave  reached  the  Downs.  Epsom  Downs  is  an 
immense  field,  the  property  of  the  Earl  of  Derby,  whose  seat, 
"  The  Oaks,"  is  about  two  miles  distant.  The  "  Derby  "  is  only 
one  of  many  races,  but  out  of  compliment  to  the  Earl,  it  is 
counted  the  chief  event  of  the  racing  season.  The  importance 
given  to  it  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  it  is  really  a 
national  holiday,  that  business  is  almost  entirely  suspended, 
and  that  Parliament  adjourns  to  attend  it. 

I  am  not  going  to  write  a  description  of  the  race,  for  one 
very  good  reason.  I  didn't  see  it.  I  could  do  it,  but  I  am  too 
honest,  and  beside  I  have  no  idea  that  it  would  interest  any- 
body. One  race  is  just  the  same  as  another.  The  horses  all 
start,  and  run  the  course,  and  come  in.  One  horse  wins,  and 
a  dozen  lose;  as  in  the  American  game  of  keno,  one  man 
exclaims  "Keno!"  and  forty-nine  utter  a  profane  word.  A 
quarter-race  in  Kentucky  is  precisely  the  same  as  the  Derby, 
except  that  one  is  witnessed  by  a  hundred  men  in  jeans,  and 
the  other  by  some  hundreds  of  thousands  in  all  sorts  of  cloth- 
ing. At  all  events  I  was  too  busy  studying  the  people  to  pay 
any  attention  to  the  horses.  Possibly  I  made  a  mistake,  the 
horse  may  be  the  nobler  animal  of  the  two.  I  should  like  to 
get  the  opinion  of  the  horse  on  that  point. 

The  sight  of  the  field  was  indescribable.  There  were  people 
by  the  hundred  thousand.  The  railroads  brought  down  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand,  and  nobody  goes  to  the 
"Darby "  by  train  if  he  can  help  it.  Many  prefer  to  walk  the 
sixteen  miles  to  going  by  rail.  These  either  haven't  the  money 
to  pay  their  fares,  or  shrink  from  giving  money  to  railroads  so 
long  as  there  is  beer  to  be  had.  The  grand  stand,  an  immense 
three-story  structure,  Avas  black  with  people,  and  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach  there  Avas  nothing  but  people.  And,  as  it  is  in 
America,  the  people  Avere  there  for  everything  except  to  see 
the  races,  which  is  proper.     For  if  there  be  anything  under 


70  NASBY   IN    EXILE. 

heaven  that  is  exasperating  it  is  a  horse  race,  unless  it  be  a 
regatta.  Except  as  an  excuse  for  something  else,  I  never  could 
see  why  people  went  to  either.  To  sit  or  stand  for  an  hour 
under  a  hot  sun,  while  a  lot  of  jockeys  are  undertaking  to 
swindle  each  other,  simply  to  see  a  field  of  horses  run  or  trot 
for  a  minute  or  two,  or  a  parcel  of  boats  start  and  come  to  the 
finish,  always  did  seem  to  me  to  be  the  very  acme  of  absurdity. 
But  when  you  have  thirty  jolly  fellows  with  you,  who  make 
good  talk,  a  wild  profusion  of  lunch,  and  oceans  of  wine,  it  is 
quite  another  thing,  that  is  if  you  like  lunch,  wine,  and  talk. 

The  principal  race  this  year,  and  the  one  on  which  the 
interest  centered,  was  between  ''  Peregrine,"  the  English  favor- 
ite, and  "  Iroquois,"  the  American  horse.  There  were  others 
in  the  field,  but  these  two  absorbed  the  entire  attention  of  the 
throng.  It  was  a  national  matter,  and  a  vast  amount  of  money 
was  lost  and  won  on  the  event.  As  is  known,  '^  Iroquois  "  won 
the  race  by  a  very  small  majority,  and  the  American  eagle 
screamed  with  delight,  and  the  British  lion  hung  its  head. 
The  English  felt  more  humiliated  than  they  did  when  they  lost 
the  Colonies,  and  Archer,  the  English  jockey  who  rode  "  Iro- 
quois "  to  victory,  was  considered  a  very  unpatriotic  man.  The 
English  found  one  consolation :  "  Well,  you  know,  the  blarsted 
Yankee  'oss  couldn't  'ave  won  the  'eat  if  a  Hinglish  jockey 
hadn't  ridden  'im."  This  was  the  remark  that  I  heard  every- 
where. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  Americans  knew  no  bounds.  The 
glorious  victory  was  made  the  reason  for  a  fresh  assault  upon 
the  lunch  and  wine,  and  a  number  of  American  parties  had 
provided  themselves  with  American  flags,  which  they  immedi- 
ately pulled  from  their  hiding  places  and  flung  to  the  breeze. 
And  then  as  the  emblem  of  freedom  displayed  itself  upon 
English  soil,  it  became  immediately  necessary  to  drink  to  the 
flag,  which  was  done  with  that  promptness  which  has  ever 
distinguished  the  genuine  American.  Parties  of  Americans 
would  arm  themselves  with  champagne  bottles,  and  pass 
to  the  carriages  displaying  the  flag,  and  insist  upon  the  occu- 
pants partaking  with  them  in  honor  of  the  victory  and  the  flag' 
and  when  one  would  get  the  address  of  the  other,  they  would 
find  the  one  was  from  Kalamazoo  and  the  other  from  Oshkoshj 
and  the  coincidence  was  so  striking  that  they  would  drink 


SHOWS    AND    BEGGARS.  Yl 

again.     By  that  time  a  ^ew  Yorker  would  appear,  and  "Why, 
you  are  from  l^ew  York !    Open  another  bottle ! "  and  so  on. 

It  was  a  glorious  da}^,  but  for  all  that  anybody  saw  of  the 
race,  it  struck  me  that  it  would  have  done  just  as  well  to  have 
taken  the  lunch  and  the  wine  to  any  other  field  outside  of 
London,  and  become  patriotically  intoxicated. 

The  country  people  and  the  laborers  of  London  enjoyed  the 
races  about  as  the  Americans  did.  For  their  amusement  there 
were  shows  and  games  on  the  ground  by  the  hundred.  There 
were  penny  theaters;  there  were  shooting  galleries,  and  the 
cocoanut  game.  A  dozen  or  more  pegs  are  driven  into  the 
ground,  and  on  each  is  placed  a  cocoanut.  The  man  who  hun- 
gers after  cocoanuts  and  amusement  pays  a  penny,  for  which 
he  has  the  privilege  of  throwing  a  wooden  ball  at  the  row  of 
pegs.  If  he  hits  a  peg  the  nut  drops  off  and  he  is  entitled  to 
it,  with  the  resultant  colic.  There  were  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  tents,  inside  of  which  were  cheap  shows,  precisely  such  as 
we  see  at  State  fairs  and  outside  of  circuses.  As  I  gazed  upon 
the  enormous  pictures  of  fat  women,  and  bearded  women,  and 
Circassian  beauties  with  enormous  masses  of  hair,  and  the  won- 
derful snakes,  and  the  groups  of  genuine  Zulu  chiefs,  and  heard 
the  inspiring  tones  of  the  hand  organ,  accompanied  with  the 
bass  drum,  and  heard  the  man  at  the  door  imploring  the  people 
not  to  lose  the  great  chance  of  their  lives,  and  saw  the  young 
fellow  with  his  girl,  torn  by  the  perplexing  conundrum  as  to 
which  was  the  better  investment,  the  show  or  more  beer,  I 
fancied  for  a  moment  that  I  was  at  home.  But  I  was  not.  I 
was  three  thousand  miles  from  home,  but  I  was  seeiifg  exactly 
what  I  should  have  seen  had  I  been  there.  Human  nature  is 
about  the  same  everywhere.  Certainly,  there  is  no  difference 
in  the  side-showmen  or  the  people  from  whom  he  earns  his 
living. 

Beggars  and  gipsies,  so-called  (there  was  no  doubt  about  the 
genuineness  of  the  beggars),  were  as  thick  as  leaves  in  Yallam- 
brosa.  Stout  men  who  could  have  wrestled  with  the  primeval 
forests  were  begging  for  half-pence ;  women,  with  bloated 
faces,  on  every  inch  of  which  was  written  "gin"  in  unmistak- 
able characters,  carrying  wretched  babies,  beset  you  at  every 
turn;  and  hideous  hags,  with  unmistakable  Irish  brogue, 
thronged  about  the  carriages  with :     "  My  pretty  gentlemon, 


72  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

will  ye  cross  the  palm  ov  the  poor  gipsy,  and  let  her  till  yer 
f orchoon  ?  Och,  and  I  kin  till  ye  the  shtyle  ov  the  shwate  lady 
ye'll  marry,  and  the  number  ov  chiidher  ye'll.  hev,  an  bring  ye 
gud  luck." 

The  absurdity  of  addressing  me  as  a  "  pretty  gintlemon," 
and  of  proposing  to  tell  me  the  sweet  lady  I'd  marry !  I,  a 
married  man  this  quarter  of  a  century  and  the  father  of  a 
family !  That  old  lady  got  nothing  from  me.  But  the  good- 
natured  fellows  in  the  carriage  did  throw  her  pennies,  which 
she  took  with  the  regular  "God  bless  yez,"  and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  in  the  course  of  the  day  she  picked  up  a  very  pretty 
sum,  enough  at  all  events  to  keep  her  full  of  gin  during  the 
night. 

The  gipsies  proper  were  on  the  ground  in  force,  and  a  curi- 
ous folk  they  are.  The  women  were  telling  fortunes,  and  a 
vast  number  of  customers  they  secured  from  the  shop  and  ser- 
vant girls  on  the  ground,  to  all  of  whom  she  promised  speedy 
marriages,  no  husband  being  under  the  degree  of  a  Duke,  and 
all  of  them  very  handsome  and  very  rich  men.  The  girls  paid 
their  pennies  and  sixpences  with  great  alacrity,  and  went  home 
to  dream  of  their  good  luck,  as  they  had  a  score  of  times  before. 
The  investment  was  doubtless  a  good  one.  They  were  satisfied 
with  themselves  for  a  while,  at  least,  and  when  happiness 
can  be  had  for  a  penny,  why  should  any  one  be  miserable  ? 

The  men  were  hiring  donkeys,  saddled  and  bridled,  for  the 
boys  and  girls  to  ride.  To  ride  a  donkey  a  certain  fixed  dis- 
tance costs  a  penny,  and  among  English  children  it  is  famous 
fun.  And  as  the  gipsy  owner  lives  out  of  doors  and  steals  all 
his  food  and  the  subsistence  of  his  animals,  and  the  animals 
themselves,  it  was  great  fun  for  him.  Albeit,  as  he  steals 
everything  he  uses  and  always  proposes  to,  and  never  intends 
to  reform  and  start  a  bank,  I  don't  see  what  he  wants  of  pen- 
nies. Were  they  philosophical  they  wouldn't  let  donkeys,  but 
would  lie  down  in  the  shade  till  hunger  compelled  them  to 
steal  something  to  eat,  and  enjoy  themselves  all  the  time. 

As  I  said  the  races  on  this  course  are  fairly  conducted,  and 
the  best  horse,  or  the  best  jockey,  actually  wins.  But  there  is 
as  much  rascality  here  as  on  an  American  course,  and  I  can't 
say  more  than  that.  Under  the  grand  stand  is  the  "  betting 
ring,"  in  which  the  book-makers  stand.     These  are  flashy  gen- 


BETTING. 


73 


tlemen,  with  tall  hats  of  painful  newness,  and  diamonds  of 
unearthly  size  and  luster,  which  gives  one  a  comforting  assur- 
ance of  solvency.     These  men  take  bets  at  the  market  rates. 
Thus,  the  betting  that  morning  was  three  to  one  on  "Pere- 
grine."    Now  in  America  the  betting  ring  is  under  the  control 
of  the  association  owning  the  track ;  but  it  is  not  so  here,  as 
any  number  of  Americans  discovered.     They  had  faith  in  "  Iro- 
quois," and  '4aid"  their  money  on  him  freely.     One  gentle- 
man of  my  acquaintance  deposited  ninety  pounds  sterling  with 
a  book-maker,  and  was  consequently  entitled  to  two  hundred 
and  seventy  pounds  sterling,  as  his  horse  won.     In  great  glee 
he  hied  himself  to  the  ring,  after  the  race,  to  collect  his  win- 
nings.    He  hied  himself  back 
to  the  carriage   sadly.      Had 
"Peregrine"  won  the  race  the 
book-maker  would,  unques- 
tionably, have  been  there  and 
received  the  gentleman  smil- 
ingl}^ ;  but  as  "  Iroquois  "  won, 
he  folded   his   tent,  like  the 
Arab,   and  as  silently  stole 
away     !N^one  of  them  were  to 
be  found.     Smarting  under 
the  sense  of  wrong,  the  Ameri 
can  told  his  story  to  the  party 
on  the  way  home,  and  he  was 
pitied  or  laughed  at,  accord- 
ing to  the  temper  of  his  listener, 
quite  a  number   laughing   at 
more  than  pitying  him      One 
gentleman  laughed  at  him  fear- 
fully, but  before  we  had  got 
half  way  home,  he  broke  out 
with  "D — n  the  swindling 
scoundrel." 

"  To  what  swindling  scoundrel  do  you  refer  ? " 
"That  blank,  blank,  swindling  devil  of  a  book-maker!" 
"  Oh !    oh !     you    were    taken    in,  were    you  ? "    joyously 
exclaimed  victim   Ko.  1. 


THE  BETTING  RING. 


74: 


NASBY    IN    EXILE 


"  Of  course,  I  was,  thirty  pounds  sterling ! " 
^'  And  you  were  laughing  at  me." 

And  then  one  after  another  confessed  to  have  been  bitten 
the  same  w^ay,  and  upon  getting  all  the  confessions  in,  it  was 
discovered  tliat  one  carriage  had  deposited  to  the  credit  of  a 
set  of  London  sharks  three  hundred  pounds  sterling,  or  fifteen 
hundred  dollars.  . 

I  lost  nothing,  for  I  do  not  bet  upon  horses  now,  for  reasons 
stated  at  the  beginning  of  this  epistle,  which  shows  that  perfect 
safety  is  only  found  in  complete  virtue. 

One  peculiarity  of  the  event  was  the  absence  of  fighting. 
During  the  entire  day  I  did  not  see  a  fight  or  anything  that 

approached  it. 
Gather  three 
hundred  thou- 
sand p  e  o  p  1  e  to- 
gether in  one 
field  in  America, 
and  fill  them  with 
our  whisky,  or 
even  beer,  and 
there  would  be 
processions  of 
broken  heads, and 
funerals  in  plenty 
the  next  day. 
There  is  no  ques- 
tion as  to  the 
Englishman's 
fighti  ng  qualities, 
but  he  does  not 
fight  on  his  holi- 
days. There  were 
"d— n  his  eyes," 
D— N  THE  SWINDLING  SCOUNDREL."  in  plenty,and  auy 

quantity  of  talk,  but  no  actual  combats,  except  the  boxing 
matches,  and  they  were  all  in  good  humor.  Why  ?  I  can't 
tell.  Possibly  it  is  because  the  beer  they  drink  tends  to 
peace,  and  possibly  it  is  because  they  find  vent  for  their  com- 


ON    THE    WAY    HOME.  75 

bativeness  in  whipping  their  wives  at  home.     But  they  don't 
fight  on  race  courses. 

The  mass  commenced  melting  away  at  about  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  and  the  ground^  were  entirely  deserted, 
except  by  the  showmen  and  those  who  have  money  to  make 
during  the  entire  racing  season.     They  live  in  their  tents. 

The  scene  on  the  road  back  was  slightly  different  from  the 
morning.  The  people  on  the  way  out  started  to  get  drunk, 
and  a  vast  majority  succeeded.  The  road  was  lined  with 
prostrate  forms  of  men  and  women.  The  English  women  of 
the  lower  order  drink  as  much  as  their  husbands  and  brothers. 
You  see  them  in  the  public  houses  standing  at  the  bars  with 
their  husbands  or  lovers,  pouring  down  huge  measures  of  beer, 
and  it  is  a  toss  which  can  drink  the  most,  or  which  enjoys  it 
the  most  keenly.  It  is  certain  that  the  woman  gets  drunk 
with  more  facility  than  the  man,  she  being  the  weaker,  if  not 
the  smaller  vessel.  And  understand,  these  women  are  not  dis- 
reputable ;  they  are  hard-working  wives  and  daughters  of 
respectable  laboring  people,  mechanics  and  the  like.  It  is 
their  notion  of  a  day's  pleasure. 

Possibly  they  are  not  to  be  blamed.  The  life  of  a  London 
workingman  or  woman  is  not  a  pleasant  one;  their  pay  is  very 
small,  and  beer  is  very  cheap,  and  for  the  time  they  are  happy. 

But  the  next  morning!  Dickens  and  all  other  English 
writers,  have  given  most  charming  descriptions  of  the  delights 
of  a  night's  drinking,  but  wh}^,  oh  why,  have  none  of  them 
ever  described  the  repentance  of  the  next  morning?  That 
would  have  done  the  world  some  good. 

And  so  we  rode  on  through  masses  of  people,  two-thirds  of 
them  at  that  stage  of  intoxication  where  the  idea  of  enjoy- 
ment is  noise  and  horse-play,  shouting,  cheering,  singing,  yell- 
ing, waving  handkerchiefs,  and  all  without  the  faintest  idea  of 
the  object  of  either,  till  we  struck  the  lights  of  the  city. 
Then  the  masses  separated,  and  we  finally  reached  our  homes, 
tired,  half-pleased  and  half -disgusted.     The  Derby  was  over. 

'No  American,  unless  he  be  a  sporting  man,  ever  goes  to  the 
Derby  twice.  It  is  necessary  to  go  once  to  see  it,  but  once  is 
quite  enough.  It  is  a  sight  to  see  three  hundred  thousand 
people  in  one  mass,  but  it  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  realize  the 


76  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

fact  that  two-thirds  or  more  of  the  number  are  under  the  influ- 
ence of  liquor,  and  that  they  did  it  deliberately,  and  went 
there  with  no  other  idea.  It  rather  lessens  one's  confidence  in 
the  future  of  the  race,  and  leads  one  to  the  increasing  of  his 
donations  to  the  home  missionary  societies.  But  it  has  always 
been  so  in  England,  and  probably  always  will  be.  And  then 
if  the  English  workingman  didn't  get  drunk  at  the  Derby  he 
doubtless  would  find  some  other  place  for  it,  and  as  he  gets  a 
day's  pure  air  and  sunshine,  it  is  perhaps,  as  well.  If  any 
good  can  be  drawn  from  it,  let  us  hunt  it  persistently. 


CHAPTEE  IT. 

WHAT   THE    LONDONERS    QUENCH    THEIR   THIRST   WITH. 

Speaking  within  bounds,  I  should  say  that  one-half  of 
England  is  engaged  in  manufacturing  beer  for  the  other  half. 
Possibly  it  takes  two-thirds  of  the  entire  population  to  make 
beer  enough  for  the  other  third,  but  I  think  an  equal  division 
would  be  about  the  thing.     The  British  public  is  very  drouthy. 

One  is  astounded  at  the  amount  of  drinking  that  is  done 
here.  Go  where  you  will,  turn  whichever  way  you  choose, 
the  inevitable  ''public,"  or  the  "pub"  as  they  say  between 
drinks,  stares  you  in  the  face.  And  on  the  streets  almost 
every  other  vehicle  you  see  is  a  vast,  massive,  clumsy  truck, 
loaded  either  with  full  kegs  for  the  publics,  or  taking  away 
empty  ones. 

The  British  public  house  is  not  the  same  thing  as  the 
American.  Except  in  a  few  instances  you  see  none  of  the 
glass  and  mahogany  palaces  of  New  York,  you  see  none  of  the 
flashy  bars  with  plate  glass,  silver  rails,  elegant  glass-ware, 
and  the  gorgeous  bar-tender  with  diamonds  as  large  as  hick- 
ory nuts. 

The  London  public  house  is  a  dingy  affair,  the  dingier  the 
better,  with  barrels  piled  upon  barrels,  and  cob-webs  as  plenty 
as  liquor.  There  is  a  wild  superstition  prevalent  that  age  has 
something  to  do  with  the  quality  of  liquor,  and  therefore, 
every  place  devoted  to  the  sale  or  handling  of  the  stuff, 
assumes  as  much  of  a  Methuselean  appearance  as  possible. 
You  are  to  have  a  party  of  friends  at  your  lodgings,  we  will 
say.  You  must  have  at  least  two  kinds  of  liquor  to  entertain 
them  withal,  for  no  Englishman  does  anything  without  mois- 
tening his  clay,  and  his  clay  is  of  a  variety  that  absorbs  a  great 
deal  of  moisture.  You  pay  for  it  and  the  man  sends  home 
the  bottles. 

(77) 


78  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Now  an  American  liquor  dealer  would  carefully  wipe  the 
bottleSj  and  they  would  be  delivered  at  your  house  as  clean 
and  tidy  as  a  laundried  shirt,  but  not  so  here.  They  are  sent 
with  dust  on  them,  and  with  cobwebs  on  them,  and  to  brush 
off  the  dust  would  be  sacrilege.  That  dust  is  a  sort  of  patent 
— a  testimonial  to  its  age,  and  consequently  a  guarantee  of  its 
excellence. 

I  mortally  offended  one  liquor  dealer  by  asking  him  to 
show  me  his  machine  for  dusting  bottles,  and  also  would  he 
kindly  explain  to  me  his  process  for  cob-webbing  them,  and 
was  it  expensive  to  keep  spiders  ?  The  man  actually  resented 
it  —  was  angry  about  it.  Singular  how  sensitive  the  Islanders 
can  be  about  trifles  like  that !  To  keep  spiders  for  the  manu- 
facture of  cobwebs  would  be  more  enterprising  than  to  buy 
cobwebs,  and  no  American  would  dust  bottles  by  ha*bd,  when 
a  very  simple  machine  could  be  devised  for  the  purpose. 

The  British  landlord  don't  set  the  bottle  before  his  cus- 
tomer as  his  brother  does  in  free  and  enlightened  America. 
Now  at  home, —  as  I  have  been  told  by  those  who  frequent 
bar-rooms  —  the  barkeeper  sets  before  his  customer  a  bottle  of 
the  liquor  he  prefers,  and  the  drouthy  man  helps  himself  to 
such  quantity  as  he  deems  sufficient  for  the  purpose  desired. 
If  he  is  fixing  himself  for  a  common  riot,  he  takes  a  certain 
quantity ;  if  for  a  murder,  more  or  less,  according  to  how 
aggravated  the  crime  is  to  be.  A  man  would  take  more  to 
fit  himself  to  kill  his  wife  than  he  would  for  his  mother-in-law,, 
and  the  wife-killing  draught  is  at  the  same  price  as  the  mother- 
in-law  annihilator. 

But  over  here  the  bar-maid  measures  your  liquor.  You 
may  have  three  penn'orth,  four  penn'orth  or  six  penn'orth. 
It  is  measured  out  to  you  and  handed  to  you,  and  you  swallow 
it  and  go  away. 

I  remonstrated  with  one  proprietor  as  to  the  absurdity  of 
the  custom,  and  the  meanness  of  it. 

"  I  will  show  you  the  reason  for  it,"  he  said,  quietly.  Just 
then  a  bold  Briton  came  in  and  the  landlord  directed  the  maid 
behind  the  bar  to  set  down  a  bottle.  The  astonished  customer 
was  invited  to  help  himself,  after  the  American  custom.  He 
was  an  astonished  Briton,  but  he  managed  to  express  his  grati- 


THE    REASON    WHY. 


79 


fication  at  the  innovation.  Seizing  the  bottle  he  poured  out 
an  ordinary  dinner  tumbler  fall,  and,  looking  grieved  because 
the  glass  was  no  larger,  drank  it  off  without  a  wink. 


A  BOLD  BRITON  TRYING  THE  AMERICAN  CUSTOM. 


I  could  easily  see  .why  the  British  landlord  measures  the 
liquor  to  the  British  public.  Two  such  customers  on  the  Ameri- 
can plan  would  bankrupt  a  very  opulent  proprietor. 

The  quality  of  liquor  used  by  the  better  classes  is  perhaps 
a  trifle  better  than  that  consumed  in  America,  at  least  so  I 
have  been  informed  by  those  who  use  liquors.  A  vast  quantity 
of  brandy  is  imported  from  France,  and  it  is  so  cheap  there 
that  it  doubtless  approximates  to  puritv-  The  whiskies  drank 
are  entirely  Scotch  and  Irish,  the  English  making  none  what- 
ever.    Wines  are  consumed  in  great  quantities,  and  there  is  no 


80 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


ill  f  '^ 


question  as  to  the  purity  of  the  cheaper  grades,  which  is  to  say 
they  are  undoubtedly  the  pure  juice  of  the  grape.  The  duty 
on  wines  is  so  small  that  there  is  no  inducement,  as  in  America, 
for  the  manufacture  of  bogus  varieties 

But  the  liquors  consumed  in  London  by  the  lower  classes 
are  probably  the  most  execrable  and  vile  that  the  ingenuity  of 

the  haters  of  mankind  ever  in- 
J||  vented.    The  brandy  they  drink 

is  liquid  lightning — chain  light- 
ning— which  goes  crashing 
through  the  system,  breaking 
down  and  destroying  every 
pulsation  towards  anything 
good.  The  gin — well,  their  gin 
is  the  very  acme,  the  absolute 
summit,  of  vileness.  There  is 
a  quarrel  in  every  gill  of  it,  a 
wife-beating  in  every  pint,  and 
a  murder  in  every  quart.  A 
smell  of  a  glass  of  it  nearly 
drove  me  to  criminal  reckless- 
ness. 

And  yet  they  all  drink  it, 
and  especially  the  women. 
The  most  disgusting  sight  the 
world  can  produce  is  a  London 
gin  drinking  woman  standing 
at  a  bar,  waiting  feverishly  for 
her  "drain,"  with  unkempt 
hair,  a  small  but  intensely 
dirty  shawl,  with  stockingless  feet,  and  shoes  down  at  the 
heel,  with  eyes  rheumy  and  watery,  that  twinkle  with  gin 
light  out  from  the  obscurity  of  gin-swelled  flesh,  with  a  face 
on  which  the  scorching  fingers  of  a  depraved  appetite  have  set 
red  lines,  as  ineffaceable  as  though  they  had  been  placed  there 
by  red-hot  iron,  every  one  of  which  is  the  unavailing  protest 
of  a  long-outraged  stomach. 

There  she  stands,  a  blotch  upon  the  face  of  nature  and  a 
satire  upon  womanhood.     It  is  difficult  to  realize  that   this 


A  LONDON  GIN  DRINKING  WOMAN. 


THE    GENERAL    BOOZE. 


81 


iiiii 


bloated  mass  was  once  a  fair  young  girl,  and.  had  a  mother 

who  loved  her,  and  it  is  equally  difficult  to  comprehend  how 

any  power,  even  that  of 

Nature,  could  ever  make  ,iiiiilii!iji 

use  of  it.    But  the  elements 

are  kindly  to  man.    When 

they  have  done  their  work, 

sweet  flowers  may  grow 

out  of  this  putridity. 

In  America  this  sort  of 
being  exists,  but  it  is  herd- 
ed somewhere  out  of  sight. 
It  does  not  stand  at  the 
bars  in  the  best  streets  to 
offend  the  eyes  of  decent 
people.  But  it  is  every- 
where here.  It  is  in  the 
Strand  and  on  Piccadilly 
and  Regent  street. 

The  average  English- 
man of  the  lower,  and 
even  the  middle  classes, 
dearly  loves  to  booze. 
Drunkenness  is  not  the 
result  either  of  conviviality 
or  desperation  as  it  is  in 
other  countries.  It  is  the 
one  thing  longed  for  and 
set  deliberately  about. 

Rare  John  Leech,  illus- 
trated it  in  his  picture  in 
Punch,  years  ago.  A  man 
was  lying  very  drunk  at  the  foot  of  a  lamp-post.  A  benevo- 
lent old  lady  of  the  Exeter  Hall  school  seeing  him,  called  a 
cabman.  "  The  poor  man  is  sick,"  quoth  the  kindly  dame, 
"  why  don't  you  help  him  ?"  "  Sick,  is  he,"  replied  cabby, 
<^  sick !  don't  I  vish  I  'ad  just  'arf  of  vot  ails  him  ? "  The 
cabby  spoke  the  honest  sentiment  of  his  heart.  The  Lon- 
doner of  his  class  loves  it  for  the  effect  it  has  upon  him, 
6 


THE   POOR  MAN  IS  SICK. 


82 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


and  as  he  ac'coinplishes  his  design  with  English  gin,  he 
carries  with  him  a  breath  that  suggests  the  tomb  of  a  not  very 
ancient  king,  a  breath  which  has  a  density,  a  center,  as  one 
might  say. 

At  twelve  o'clock,  Saturday  night,  he  would  fight  a  rattle- 
snake and  give  the  snake  the  first  bite.  Were  a  venomous 
snake  to  bite  such  an  Englishman  the  man  would  never  know 


**THAT  NIGGER  IS  MINE,    AND  WORTH  FIFTEEN  HUNDRED  DOLLARS." 

it,  for  alcohol  is  a  sure  cure  for  reptilian  poison,  but  the  poor 
snake  would  wriggle  faintly  away  to  some  secluded  spot  and 
die  sadly.  This  is  why,  I  presume,  I  have  seen  no  rattlesnakes 
in    London ;    they  cannot    safely  prosecute  the   business   for 


THE    KIND    OF    LIQUOR.  83 

which  they  were  created.  They  are  similarly  worried,  I 
believe,  in  West  Yirginia. 

To  drink  this  vile  stuff  successfully  one  would  want  his 
stomach  glass-lined  and  baclced  up  with  fire-brick.  I  never 
would  attempt  it  except  as  the  man  did  in  Kentucky.  He 
walked  into  a  bar,  and  distrusting  the  quality  of  the  whisky, 
called  up  a  negro  and  gave  him  a  glass  before  drinking  his 
own.  The  landlord,  divining  his  purpose,  knocked  the  glass 
out  of  the  negro's  hand.  "  No  you  don't !"  said  the  Boniface, 
"  that  nigger  is  mine,  and  worth  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  Get 
an  Irishman  to  try  it  on." 

And  while  I  am  about  it  I  may  say  that  alcoholization  is 
not  confined  to  the  lower  order  by  any  means.  Almost  every 
body  drinks  sometliing  beside  water.  The  tradesman  who 
can  afford  it  has  claret  at  his  table,  and  during  the  day  his 
"drains"  of  brandy  are  very  frequent.  The  gentry  and 
nobility  drink  more  costly  wines  and  better  brandy,  but  liquor 
is  everywhere.  Nothing  is  done  without  the  accompanying 
drink ;  it  is  universal  and  in  all  places.  The  climate  prevents 
the  injury  that  would  visit  the  same  man  in  America,  but  it 
hurts.  If  the  English  could  only  live  as  temperately  as  the 
Americans  they  would  be  the  greatest  race  of  people  on  earth. 

The  exclusiveness  of  the  English  is  manifest  in  their  vices 
as  in  their  virtues.  Every  bar  is  divided  in  the  front  by  par- 
titions, one  for  each  class.  Over  the  one  designated  as  "  the 
private  bar,"  you  get  precisely  the  same  liquors  as  at  the 
others,  but  you  pay  more  for  it,  because  laborers  and  the  like 
are  not  admitted.  One  compartment  exacts  four  pence,  the 
next  three  pence,  and  the  last  and  lowest  two  pence.  But  ail 
are  served  out  of  the  same  wood. 

But  very  few  men  are  employed  behind  English  bars^ 
women  filling  those  places.  The  London  bar-maid  is  an  insti- 
tution to  be  studied.  To  begin  with  she  must  be  pretty,  for 
being  pretty  is  a  part  of  her  qualifications.  As  her  feet  cannot 
be  seen,  owing  to  her  standing  behind  the  bar,  she  is  gener- 
ally pretty.  Then  they  are  required  to  dress  well,  and  all 
in  one  establishment  dress  their  hair  alike.  In  one  place  the 
maids  part  their  hair  on  one  side,  in  another  on  the  other,  and 
in  a  third  in  the  middle.     They  are  alike  in  each  shop. 


84  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

They  are  required  to  make  themselves  pleasant  to  customers, 
for  each  one  is  expected  to  influence  an  amount  of  trade  to  the 
house.  They  are  exceedingly  free  and  easy  damsels,  without 
being  positively  indelicate,  and  there  isn't  a  cabman  in  the 
city  who  is  so  much  a  master  of  chaff  as  they  are.  They 
will  wink  and  leer  at  you  in  the  most  free  way  possible,  they 
will  talk  to  the  very  verge  of  indelicacy  if  they  think  it  will 
please  you,  and  if  they  form  another  judgment  of  your  tastes 
they  will  be  as  sedate  as  priests.  These  bar-maids  were  all 
born  a  great  while  ago,  and  have  improved  all  their  time. 

They  are  not  only  expected  to  be  pretty,  but  they  must 
have  the  power  of  extracting  drinks  for  themselves  from  the 
young  or  old  fellows  who  delight  to  chaff  with  them.  If  the 
young  fellow  who  is  enjoying  the  delight  of  her  conversation 
is  not  sufficiently  prompt,  the  warning  eye  of  the  landlord  or 
landlady  intimates  that  she  has  wasted  enough  time  upon  him, 
and  she  simply  asks  him,  when  he  has  ordered  a  drink  for  him- 
self, if  he  won't  treat  her,  and  he  always  does.  Per  conse- 
quence by  eleven  at  night  the  gentle  maids  are  in  a  condition 
highly  satisfactory  to  the  house,  for  their  drunkenness  repre- 
sents so  much  money  in  his  till.  He  who  serves  the  British 
public  with  drink  would  utilize  the  very  soul  of  an  employe  to 
make  money,  man  or  woman. 

As  a  rule  the  wife  of  the  landlord  of  a  popular  drinking 
place  takes  personal  charge  of  the  bar,  and  she  is  a  thousand 
times  more  cruel  and  grasping  than  her  husband.  When  a 
woman  does  unsex  herself,  she  can  give  a  man  points  in  wick- 
edness that  he  never  dreamed  of.  These  wives  are  as  eager  to 
have  liquor  paid  for  for  themselves  as  bar-maids,  and  the  sharp 
eye  they  keep  upon  the  girls  to  see  that  they  swallow  enough 
to  make  the  business  profitable  is  something  wonderful. 

They  are  invariably  dressed  very  richly,  with  elaborate 
coiffures,  and  sparkling  with  diamonds.  As  the  British  young 
man  prefers  blonde  hair  to  any  other,  the  landladies  are  mostly 
of  that  persuasion.  If  they  were  born  brunettes  there  are 
arts  by  which  they  can  be  changed,  and  besides  wigs  are  very 
cheap  in  this  country. 

The  British  woman  drinks  as  much  as  the  British  man,  and 
possibly  more.    I   am  not  speaking  of    the  low,  degraded 


THE    EDIBLES    ON    THE    BARS.  85 

woman,  but  of  the  respectability.  It  is  nothing  singular  to 
see  women,  respectable  women,  sitting  in  bars  with  their  hus- 
bands and  lovers,  and  the  amount  of  stout  and  "  brandy  cold," 
they  make  away  with  is  something  wonderful. 

I  was  through  the  wonderful  park  at  Richmond  the  other 
day.  It  was  a  holiday,  and  all  London  was  out  of  the  city  in 
the  parks.  All  the  little  roadside  inns  were  filled  with  the 
populace,  women  and  children  being  largely  in  the  majority ; 
and  there  was  never  a  woman,  no  matter  if  she  had  a  child  at 
the  breast,  who  did  not  have  a  monster  pot  of  pewter  filled 
either  with  porter  or  ale.  And  they  gave  it  to  their  little  chil- 
dren as  freely  as  an  American  mother  would  milk. 

The  drinking  house  in  London  is,  as  a  rule,  especially  for 
drinking.  There  are  no  free  lunches,  no  nibbling  bits,  free 
on  any  bar.  Nothing  but  liquids  are  sold.  An  American 
speculator  conceived  the  brilliant  idea  of  starting  a  bar  with 
the  addition  of  the  American  free  lunch,  with  which  to 
attract  trade.  It  did  attract  altogether  too  much.  In  twenty 
minutes  the  lunch,  which  should  have  lasted  all  day,  was  gone, 
and  the  British  public  was  indignant  that  it  was  not  renewed. 
They  pronounced  the  proprietor  a  swindle,  and  the  speculation 
was  a  disastrous  failure. 

At  some  of  the  bars  an  attempt  is  made  to  take  the  curse 
off  the  liquor  traffic  by  making  some  pretence  of  selling  eat- 
ables. But  the  British  public  knows  this  is  a  sham,  and  resents 
it  by  never  buying  any  comestibles  at  the  counter.  The  British 
public  scorns  eating  in  sach  a  place,  and  insists  upon  drinks. 
Indeed,  the  British  public  won't  eat  at  all  as  long  as  it  can 
drink. 

What  they  generally  have  in  these  places  under  glass 
covers,  are  curiously  indigestible  meat  pies,  sandwiches, 
cheese,  cakes  and  buns.  Sometimes  at  railway  stations  a 
hungry  Briton  buys  and  partakes  of  these  things,  but  not 
often,  and  never  without  his  glass  of  something  to  wash  it 
down.  This  is  the  time  I  forgive  him  for  drinking.  It  is 
necessary. 

The  sandwich  is  made  either  of  ham  or  beef,  and  may  be 
said  to  be  the  universal  cold  refreshment.  It  is  about  four 
inches  long  by  two  wide,  and  is  a  miracle  of  thinness.     It  is 


86  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

the  thinnest  thing  on  earth.  I  have  often  purchased  them, 
not  to  eat,  but  to  admire  this  quality.  How  bread  and  meat 
can  be  cut  so  thin,  especially  bread,  is  one  of  the  mysteries 
that  never  will  be  solved  till  I  penetrate  a  public  kitchen  and 
see  the  operation.  It  is  an  art  I  suppose,  and  the  professor  of 
it  gets,  I  presume,  a  very  high  salary.  He  ought  to.  The 
bread  is  stringy  enough  and  the  meat  tough  enough  to  be  cut 
as  thin  as  might  be  desired,  but  the  puzzle  is  how  any  one  can 
acquire  the  skill  to  cut  it,  that  way.  But  they  do  it.  The 
English  sandwich  is  more  an  object  of  interest  to  me  than  the 
obelisk,  and  is  just  about  as  digestible.  I  would  as  soon 
undertake  to  eat  the  one  as  the  other. 

The  meat  pie  is  made  of  hashed  beef,  the  fat  being  put  in 
liberally,  enclosed  in  a  wrapper  of  dough,  and  all  baked 
together,  in  some  sort  of  way.  I  could  procure  and  write  out 
the  process,  but  being  a  true  American  and  loving  the 
American  people  I  will' not.  It  is  utterly  indigestible.  I  ate 
one  at  eleven  p.  m.  one  night,  and  woke  up  in  the  morning 
feeling  as  though  I  had  swallowed  the  plaster  bust  of  the 
infant  Samuel  at  prayer  that  stood  on  my  mantel.  The  pie  is 
a  trifle  worse  than  the  sandwich.  The  cheese  cake  may  be 
dismissed  with  the  simple  remark  that  it  is  a  trifle  worse  than 
the  meat  pie.  The  bun  is  a  stand-off  as  to  the  others.  Alto- 
gether they  make  a  frightful  stomachic  quartet.  But  the 
British  public,  who  know  nothing  of  our  hash  and  other  luxu- 
ries, are  content  with  them,  and  I  don't  know  as  I  shall  under- 
take to  reform  them  in  this  particular.  I  pity  them,  but 
there  are  so  many  things  to  reform  here  that  I  shall  not 
attempt  any  movement  in  that  direction.     Life  is  very  short. 

The  Englishman  takes  his  liquor  straight,  or  neat,  as  they 
call  it.  Mixed  drinks  are  entirely  unknown.  The  sherry  cob- 
bler, the  mint  julep,  the  fragrant  cock-tail,  are  never  heard  of 
in  regular  English  bars,  but  the  drouthy  man  who  drinks,  and 
they  all  do,  takes  either  brandy  or  Scotch  or  Irish  whisky,  raw 
from  a  barrel,  and  swallows  his  portion  and  walks  away  satis- 
fied. One  woman  in  a  famous  drinking  place  was  taught  by 
an  American  to  make  cock-tails,  and  the  fame  of  the  mixture 
drew  all  the  Americans  to  this  particular  place.  The  proprie- 
tor was  sore  displeased  at  this  trade,  and  raised  the  price  two 


TOBACCO.  87 

pence  above  what  was  regular,  to  keep  it  away.  It  took  too 
much  of  the  girl's  time  to  compound  the  mixture. 

Drinkino^  does  not  have  the  effect  upon  an  Englishman  that 
it  does  upon  an  American.  The  Englishman  is  a  more  stolid 
and  phlegmatic  man  anyhow,  and  the  climate  is  less  exciting. 
There  is  not  the  exhilaration  in  the  atmosphere  that  there  is 
in  America,  and  the  moist  humidity  that  you  exist  in  is  very 
favorable  to  the  consumption  of  alcoholic  drinks.  I  had  got 
so  before  I  had  been  here  a  week,  that  I  think  I  could  have 
endured  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water.  I  did  not  do  it,  but  I 
say  I  could  have  done  it. 

The  prices  of  liquors  average  quite  as  high  as  in  America, 
and  tobacco  and  everything  made  of  it,  is  much  higher  and 
the  quality  is  vile.  A  decent  cigar,  or  one  counted  decent 
here,  costs  twenty-five  cents,  it  beiiig  of  the  grade  that  in 
"New  York  sells  for  ten  cents. 

No  tobacco  is  chewed  except  by  sailors,  and  the  English- 
man, very  properly,  considers  it  a  disgusting  habit,  only  to  be 
practiced  by  very  low  people.  In  consequence  of  the  high 
price  of  tobacco,  pipes  and  cigarettes  are  very  generally  used. 
The  Englishman  of  the  better  class  smokes  liis  pipe  upon  the 
street,  the  same  as  an  American  does  his  cigar.  He  prefers  a 
pipe  to  a  cigar,  possibly  because  it  is  better,  and  possibly  because 
it  is  cheaper.  Your  Englishman  loves  dearly  to  get  the  value 
of  his  money,  and  he  generally  does  it. 

The  lover  of  drink  in  America,  especially  our  German  fel- 
low citizens,  are  emphatic  in  their  denunciation  of  the  liquor 
laws  of  the  United  States.  They  ought  to  live  in  England  a 
little  while  to  appreciate  the  privileges  they  have  at  home. 
Hartford,  Connecticut,  is,  I  believe,  a  paradise  to  those  who 
live  there.  One  old  lady  who  was  born  and  had  alwa3^s  lived 
in  Hartford,  came  to  die — an  impertinence  of  ISTature,  as  aU 
Hartford  people  firmly  believe.  People  should  die  in  other 
places,  but  not  in  Hartford.  But  this  old  lady  had  come  to 
death,  and  her  minister  was  consoling  her. 

"I  trust,  Mrs.  Thompson,'  he  said,  professionally,  "that 
you  are  prepared  to  die  ? " 

"  I  am,"  was  her  answer ;  "  I  owe  no  pew  rent." 

"  And  are  you  content  with  the  change  ? " 


88  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

"  Well,  on  the  whole,  yes.  Heaven  is  no  doubt  a  very  nice 
place,  but  I  shall  greatly  miss  my  Hartford  privileges." 

There  is  no  especial  moral  to  this  story,  except  that  if  our 
German  population  were  compelled  to  endure  English  law 
they  would  greatly  miss  their  American  privileges.  While 
you  can  get  all  the  drink  you  want  during  the  day,  you  must 
either  have  it  at  home  or  go  without  it  after  twelve  o'clock  at 
night. 

In  London  no  liquor  can  be  procured  after  twelve  o'clock 
at  night.  Every  bar,  big  or  little,  is  closed,  and  this  law  is 
not  evaded,  for  the  risk  is  too  great.  A  man's  license  would  be 
taken  from  him  immediately,  and  without  remedy. 

Persons  are  not  licensed  to  sell  liquor  in  England  —  it  is 
the  premises  that  are  licensed.  The  Board  having  it  in  charge 
license  one  public  house  in  a  district,  basing  it  upon  the  sup- 
posed necessity,  and  these  premises  hold  this  license  till  deprived 
of  it  by  violation  of  law.  If  you  desire  to  sell  liquor  you  can- 
not go  and  rent  a  room  and  open  your  bar ;  you  are  compelled 
to  buy  the  lease  of  a  place  which  carries  the  license  with  it. 
Consequently  a  licensed  place  is  a  valuable  piece  of  property. 
One  at  the  corner  of  St.  Martin's  street  and  Orange,  a  dingy 
building  in  a  dingy  neighborhood,  was  bought  by  an  AmeHcan 
to  be  used  as  an  American  bar,  and  he  paid  twenty-five  thou- 
sand dollars  bonus  for  the  lease.  The  annual  rental  of  the  place 
is  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  and  the  lease  for  which  he  paid  the 
bonus  has  forty-five  years  to  run.  For  any  other  business  the 
bonus  would  have  been  next  to  nothing  in  that  neighborhood. 

Sunday  is  an  especially  drouthy  day  in  London.  All  the 
bars  are  closed  till  one  o'clock  p.  m.,  and  are  then  open  but  an 
hour.  Then  they  are  closed  till  six,  and  are  permitted  to  keep 
open  from  that  hour  till  eleven.  And  let  it  be  remembered  that 
law  in  England  is  law.  You  cannot  laugh  at  it  as  you  do  in 
America.  There  is  no  evasion  of  this  law  attempted.  The  publics 
are  required  to  be  closed  and  they  are  closed.  There  are  no  side- 
doors,  as  in  New  York — there  is  no  selling  on  the  sly  —  they 
are  closed.  The  only  exception  is  at  the  railroad  stations. 
The  refreshment  bars  there  are  permitted  to  be  kept  open  as 
long  as  trains  arrive  or  depart,  for  the  British  Government 
recognizes  the  necessity  of  an   Englishman  having  his  grog 


EAKLY    CLOSING.  89 

till  the  prescribed  hour  for  his  getting  into  his  bed.  The 
thirsty  soul  who  pants  for  beer  after  twelve  goes  to  Charing 
Cross  station,  and  buys  a  ticket  to  the  first  station  out,  which 
is  "tuppence  ha'penny,"  or  five  cents.  Then  he  walks  into  the 
bar,  and  being  a  'traveler,"  can  buy,  drink  and  pay  for  all  the 
stimulants  he  desires,  till  the  last  train  has  arrived  or  departed 
for  the  night.  His  ticket  he  puts  into  his  pocket,  to  be  used 
when  he  desires. 

The  night  trade  in  liquor  is  something  enormous.  A  land- 
lord in  the  Haymarket,  whose  lease  is  about  expiring,  is  now 
paying  one  thousand  dollars  a  year  rent,  and  the  proprietors 
have  notified  him  that  his  renewal  will  cost  him  just  five  times 
that  sum.  He  told  me  that  he  should  not  renew,  but  that  he 
would  gladly  if  he  were  allowed  to  keep  open  till  half-past 
twelve,  a  half  hour  after  the  regular  time.  That  half  hour 
each  day  would  more  than  make  the  difference  in  rent. 

A  walk  along  Piccadilly  after  twelve  explains  this  difi'er- 
ence.  The  street,  from  end  to  end,  is  crowded  with  prostitutes, 
and  drunken  rakes  who  think  they  are  having  a  good  tiine, 
but  they  are  not.  They  walk  up  and  down,  chaffing  with 
these  poor  unfortunates.  They  take  them  into  the  publics, 
and  pay  for  their  drinks,  all  of  w^hich  the  landlord  not  only 
approves  of  but  encourages.  And  the  English  prostitute 
can  drink  as  heartily  and  just  as  long  as  any  man  alive. 
She  has  just  as  drouthy  a  system,  and  it  takes  just  as  much  to 
fill  it.  And  there  they  sit,  and  chaff,  and  booze,  till  the  clock 
strikes  twelve  and  the  place  is  closed.  The  landlord  turns  off 
the  gas  and  puts  up  his  shutters,  cursing  the  law  that  compels 
him  to  close  just  as  his  harvest  begins. 

As  there  are  literally  tens  of  thousands  of  these  women 
walking  the  street,  and  as  ninety  per  cent,  of  them  are  drunk 
at  ten,  with  a  carrying  capacity  of  continuing  to  drink  every 
minute  as  long  as  anybody  will  pay  for  it,  and  as  there  is  an 
equal  number  of  men  prowling  the  streets  whose  highest  idea 
of  amusement  is  to  pay  for  it,  the  importance  of  an  extra  half 
hour  after  midnight  may  be  appreciated. 

But  it  is  of  no  use.  Law  is  law  in  England,  and  whether 
the  citizen  likes  it  or  not,  he  is  compelled  to  obey  it  in  letter 
and  spirit.  Were  a  public  house  to  be  open  a  minute  after  the 
hour,  a  policeman  would  walk  in  and  close  it  for  him,  and  the 


90  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

next  day  the  nearest  magistrate  would  revoke  his  license,  and 
he  could  never  get  one  again.  E'o  proprietor  would  rent  him 
a  place,  for  the  license  is  too  valuable  to  be  risked  by  a  violator 
of  law. 

There  are  a  few  bars  in  London  that  make  a  specialty  of 
American  drinks,  which  are  very  curious.  The  names  they 
palm  off  as  American  are  very  funny  to  an  American,  because 
they  are  never  heard  of  over  there.  ISTone  of  my  readers  ever 
go  into  bars,  except  for  curiosity,  but  just  imagine  this  list  of 
drinks : 

"  Copper-cooler,"  "  Pick-me-up,"  "  Our  Swdzzle,"  "  Maiden's 
Blush,"  "  Bosom-caresser,"  "  Corpse-reviver,"  "  Flash-of -Light 
ning,"  and  so  on. 

And  these  names  are  actually  believed  by  Englishmen  to 
be  genuinely  American,  and  in  common  use  in  the  States. 

Ice  is  about  the  scarcest  thing  in  England,  and  cannot  be 
had  at  the  majority  of  bars.  At  some  of  the  very  best  it  will 
be  furnished,  if  very  forcibly  asked  for,  but  then  m  too  small 
quantities  to  be  satisfactory  to  an  American,  who  is  accustomed 
to  taking  his  drinks  ice  cold.  The  frozen  reminiscence  of  Win- 
ter is  rather  expensive  here,  and,  besides  that,  the  Englishman 
very  rightl}^  considers  it  unhealthy.  The  water  is  drank  in  its 
natural  temperature,  and  it  is  really  wonderful  how  soon  one 
becomes  accustomed  to  it. 

The  prices  of  strong  beverages  run  about  the  same  as  in 
the  United  States.  Brandy  is  three  pence,  six  cents  of  our 
Bird  of  Freedom  money,  and  when  the  amount  is  considered, 
your  three  pence  buys  about  the  same  as  twelve  and  one-half 
cents  in  New  York.  Malt  liquors  are  about  the  same.  The 
glass  is  a  trifle  smaller,  and  the  regular  price  at  the  small  pub- 
lics is  tw^o  pence,  an  equivalent,  quantity  considered,  of  five-cents. 

The  quality  of  malt  liquors  is  a  long  way  below  the  Amer- 
ican article,  and  America,  singular  as  it  may  seem,  drinks 
better  English  ale  than  the  Englishman  does.  The  ale  made 
here  for  home  consumption  is  vile  stuff,  while  that  made  for 
export  is  infinitely  better.  The  Englishman  eats  what  he 
cannot  sell. 

To  get  at  these  facts  concerning  drinking  has  cost  me  an 
inconceivable  amount  of  wear  and  tear  of  feeling,  which  sacri- 
fice I  trust  my  readers  will  appreciate. 


CHAPTEE  V. 


HOW   LONDON    IS    AMUSED. 


To  pass  from  rum  to  amusement  is  a  very  easy  and  natural 
transition,  for  unfortunately  the  people  who  drink  are,  as  a 
rule,  those  who  need  and  will  have  amusement.  Having  done 
with  liquor  forever,  I  am  glad  to  get  to  a  subject  not  quite  so 
disagreeable. 

London  supports  forty  theaters  proper ;  that  is,  forty  thea- 
ters devoted  entirely  to  dramatic  or  operatic  representations, 
and  several  hundred  places  of  amusement  of  all  kinds,  which 
may  be  classed  as  variety  shows. 

The  regular  theaters  are  a  long  way  beyond  those  in 
America.  I  dislike  to  acknowledge  this,  but  candor  and  fair- 
ness compels  it.  I  cannot  tell  a  lie,  even  for  national  pride. 
My  hatchet  is  bright  —  it  has  never  been  used  much.  The 
London  theaters  will  not  compare  with  those  of  any  of  the 
large  American  cities  in  point  of  size,  or  convenience  of 
access.  They  are  generally  situated  in  out  of  the  way  places, 
and  the  halls  and  entrances  are  as  shabby  as  anything  can  be, 
but  when  you  are  once  in  nothing  can  be  more  delightful. 
There  is  a  softness  in  the  .appointments,  a  perfection  in  the 
furnishing,  a  good  taste  generally  that  America  has  not.  We 
are  splendid,  but  it  must  be  confessed,  rather  garish  and  loud. 

The  character  of  the  performances  excels  the  style  of  the 
theaters.  Their  pieces  are  put  upon  the  stage  with  an  atten- 
tion to  detail,  and  with  a  strength  of  cast  which  we  at  home 
never  see,  even  in  the  best. 

I  witnessed  a  piece  at  the  St.  James,  the  time  of  which  was 
the  First  Charles.     In  a  drawing-room  scene  musical  instru- 

(91) 


THE    LONDON    THEATERS.  do 

ments  were  necessary.  In  America  it  would  have  been  noth- 
ing singular  had  a  Chickering  piano  been  used,  and  a  parlor 
set  in  reps.  Imagine  the  delight  of  seeing  a  drawing-room 
furnished  with  furniture  of  the  period,  with  an  old  harpsi- 
chord, such  as  the  ladies  of  the  time  used,  with  the  ancient 
zittern,  and  the  gorgeous  harp,  with  the  chairs  and  couches 
precisely  as  they  were  in  the  country  house  of  the  time.  The 
costumes  were  not  mere  guess  work  —  they  were  designed  and 
constructed  by  a  professional  costumer,  who  made  studies  from 
pictures,  and  put  upon  the  stage  men  and  women  of  King 
Charles'  day.  This  was  a  delight,  in  and  of  itself,  that  paid 
one  for  his  time  and  expenditure,  even  if  he  cared  nothing  for 
the  play. 

And  then  the  acting.  If  there  is  any  one  thing  in  the  way 
of  amusements  that  is  utterly  and  fiendishly  detestable,  it  is 
the  acting  of  the  usual  child.  The  mother  or  father  who 
trains  the  ten  year  old  phenomenon  to  play  children's  parts, 
takes  it  as  far  away  from  childhood  as  he  can  possibly, 
and  the  child  does  not  play  a  child  at  all.  He  does,  or  tries  to 
do,  Hamlet^  in  children's  clothes.  But  nothing  of  the  sort  is 
permitted  in  London.  The  child  plays  the  child,  and  does  it 
as  it  should  be  done.  It  was  a  comfort  to  see  two  children  on 
the  floor  in  one  scene,  playing  at  the  game  of  "  See-saw,  Mar- 
gery Daw,"  and  doing  it  exactly  as  children  would  do  in  real 
life,  instead  of  mouthing  the  lines  like  an  old-style  actor  in 
"Macbeth." 

And  all  the  way  down  there  was  the  same  perfection  in  the 
acting  as  in  the  setting  of  the  piece.  There  was  not  one  star 
and  twenty  "  sticks,"  as  is  the  rule  over  the  water,  but  the  ser- 
vant who  merely  said,  "  My  lord,  the  carriage  waits,"  did  that 
bit  just  as  well  as  the  hero  or  heroine  of  the  piece. 

The  Englishman  is  a  very  thorough  sort  of  a  man,  and 
wants  what  he  has  done  well,  according  to  his  notion  of  what 
well  is. 

The  places  of  amusement,  other  than  the  regular  theaters, 
are  of  as  great  variety  as  they  are  vast  in  number.  The  pre- 
vailing attraction  is,  of  course,  the  regular  variety  theater, 
which  does  not  differ  materially  from  its  brother  in  America. 
It  is  singular  that  the  stock  attraction  at  the  variety  theater  is 


94  NASEY    IN    EXILE. 

the  negro  minstrel  act.  Minstrelsy  originated  in  America 
forty  years  ago,  but  it  has  as  firm  a  hold  upon  England  as  it  has 
upon  America,  and  a  trifle  firmer.  No  programme  is  complete 
without  it,  and  no  part  of  the  performances  are  so  heartily 
enjoyed. 

But  their  minstrelsy  would  drive  an  American  negro  crazy. 
It  is  sufficient  for  a  London  audience  to  have  a  performer  black 
his  face  and  hands,  and  put  on  a  long-tailed  coat,  and  striped 
trowsers,  and  sing  negro  songs.  The  rich,  mellow  accent  of 
the  American  African,  the  rollicking  humor,  the  funny  gro- 
tesqueness,  all  that  is  wanting.  At  any  music  hall  you  shall 
hear  the  songs  popular  in  America  sung  by  a  cockney  with  all 
the  cockney  peculiarities  of  speech,  even  to  the  misplacing  of 
the  h's. 

The  leg  business  is  even  more  common  and  more  indecent 
than  in  America,  and  variety  performance   is  more   highly  . 
flavored   generally.     Magic    and    athletic    performances    are 
greatly  in  favor,  albeit  fine  vocalism  and  instrumental  perform 
ance  of  a  very  high  character  must  be  interspersed. 

These  variety  performances  are  attended  by  all  classes. 
The  respectable  mechanic  and  his  family,  the  professional  man 
and  his  family,  the  thief,  pickpocket,  and  prostitute,  are  all 
mingled  in  one  common  mass,  the  only  division  being  the 
prices  in  different  parts  of  the  house.  And  here,  as  every- 
where, drinking  goes  on  incessantly  and  forever.  Waiters 
move  about  through  the  audience,  taking  orders  for  beverages^ 
and  men  and  women  drink  and  guzzle,  and  men  smoke  during 
the  entire  performance.  'No  matter  what  else  stops,  the  flow 
of  beer  never  does.  It  is  very  like  Time  in  this  particular,  con- 
stantly moving. 

The  life  of  a  variety  actor  is  a  very  busy  one  after  eight  at 
night.  If  he  has  any  popularity  at  all  he  has  engagements  at 
three  and  even  four  theaters.  He  sings  one  song  and  responds 
to  three  encores,  then  throwing  himself  into  a  cab  he  is  driven 
to  another  and  to  another,  the  time  of  his  appearance  at  each 
being  fixed  to  a  minute. 

Singular  as  it  may  seem,  the  wretches  who  sing  the  most 
idiotic  songs,  of  the  "  champagne  Charley  "  kind,  compositions 
so  utterly  and  entirely  stupid  that  one  wonders  that  any  audi- 


AN    ENGLISH    IDEA    OF   A    GOOD    TIME. 


95 


ence  would  endure  them  for  a  minute,  are  the  most  popular. 
They  sing  them  in  extravagant  evening  costumes,  in  the  most 
doleful  and  melancholy  way,  and  call  themselves  "  comiques." 
One  of  them,  probably  the  nearest  approach  to  an  idiot  of  any 
man  on  the  English  stage,  makes  from  two  hundred  to  three 
hundred  dollars  a  week,  and  is  in  demand  all  the  time. 


INTERIOR  OF  A  VARIETY   HALL. 

But  they  have  a  good  time  at  these  theaters.  To  hear  a 
woman  sing  a  slang  song  dressed  —  or  rather  undressed  —  is 
not  calculated  to  inflict  much  wear  and  tear  upon  the  mind, 
and  as  all  the  performances  are  of  the  alleged  humorous  order 
there   is  abundant  room  for  chaff  and  talk  of  like  cheerful 


96  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

nature,  which  is  further  aided  and  promoted  by  the  consumption 
of  beer.     The  parties  seem  to  enjoy  it,  and  I  presume  they  do. 

The  low  Londoner  has  very  brutal  tastes.  His  greatest 
delight  is  a  prize  fight ;  a  dog  fight  comes  next  in  his  estima- 
tion ;  a  rat  pit  is  satisfactory  in  default  of  anything  more 
bloody  ;  a  cock-fight  will  answer  as  an  appetizer  ;  and  a  horse 
race  is  pleasing,  though  that  shades  up  into  something  too 
near  respectability  for  him. 

A  dog  fight  in  London  is  a  sight  that  is  worth  seeing  just 
once,  if  studies  of  mhuman  nature  are  what  you  want.  The 
arena  is  always  behind  a  "  sporting  public,"  on  whose  tables 
in  the  parlor  you  shall  always  find  the  flash  and  sporting 
papers  of  the  metropolis,  and  the  walls  of  which  are  decorated 
with  engravings  of  prize  fights,  portraits  of  famous  dogs,  and 
highly  colored  lithographs  of  noted  horse  encounters. 

Gathered  around  the  arena  will  be  a  hundred  or  more  of 
*'  the  fancy,"  who  were  to  me  anything  but  fancy.  They  are 
the  broad-jawed,  soap-locked,  sturdy  brutes,  of  the  Bill  Sykes 
type,  beer-bloated  and  gin-inflamed,  who  subsist  by  practices 
which,  if  not  absolutely  criminal,  come  as  close  to  it  as  possible. 

The  dogs  are  of  the  English  bull  variety,  those  plucky,  ten- 
acious brutes  who  will  die  rather  than  yield,  or  even  make  any 
manifestation  of  pain. 

At  the  signal  the  brute  dogs  are  let  loose  upon  each  other, 
the  human  dogs  about  expressing  the  keenest  possible  delight 
at  any  especial  and  exceedingly  bloody  performance.  The 
highest  pleasure  is  attained,  and  the  wildest  enthusiasm  is 
evoked,  when  one  dog  gets  the  shoulder  or  jaw  of  the  other 
in  his  iron  jaws,  and  holds  it  there,  while  the  other  literally 
eats  him  up.  Then  wagers  are  laid  as  to  which  will  hold  out 
the  longest,  and  every  movement  is  watched  with  the  keenest 
solicitude,  and  when  the  bloody  drama  ends  in  the  death  of 
one  or  both,  and  the  wagers  are  settled,  the  conversation  flows 
naturally  into  a  dog  channel,  and  the  victories  and  defeats  of 
past  years  are  discussed,  much  as  soldiers  discuss  their  achieve- 
ments. 

Dogs  of  this  breed,  of  approved  courage  and  strength,  are 
of  great,  value,  and  large  sums  of  money  are  hazarded  upon 
their  performances.     The  aristocratic  dog  fanciers  can  have  a 


PUNCH    AND    JFDY.  97 

private  match  made  for  them  at  any  time  for  from  one  to  five 
pounds. 

Of  course  there  are  any  quantity  of  aquariums  and  menag- 
eries, and  institutions  of  a  supposed  usefully  scientific  nature, 
which  are  largely  attended,  but  the  variety  theater,  or  music 
hall,  as  it  is  called,  is  the  stock  amusement  of  the  Londoner. 
He  can  drink  to  better  advantage  in  them  than  anywhere  else, 
and  that,  after  all,  is  the  principal  business  of  his  life. 

The  street  amusements  are  beyond  any  possibility  of 
enumeration  or  description.  You  will  not  walk  a  dozen 
blocks  without  seeing  the  very  absurd  and  very  brutal  Punch 
and  Judy,  which  has  delighted  England  for  centuries,  and 
seems  to  be  immortal.  One  would  naturally  suppose  that 
when  a  boy  had  laughed  at  two  wooden  figures  manipulated 
by  a  man  inside  of  a  box,  knocking  each  other  on  the  head, 
with  squeaks  and  idiotic  dialogue,  every  day  up  to  his  twenty- 
first  year,  would  naturally  pass  it  by  ever  afterward,  but  it  is 
not  so.  I  have  seen  venerable  men,  who  were  doubtless  bank 
presidents  or  clergymen,  or  something  of  the  eminently  respect- 
able kind,  stop  in  front  of  a  Punch  and  Judy  show,  and  laugh 
as  heartily  at  the  ancient  performance  as  they  did  when  they 
were  boys  in  roundabouts.  And  they  would  stand  out 
the  performance,  and  at  its  conclusion  give  the  performer 
their  two  pence,  and  go  away  as  if  they  had  been  amused. 

There  never  has  been  any  change  in  Punch  and  Judy  from 
the  time  it  was  brought  to  England  from  Italy.  The  fun  is 
now,  as  then,  in  Punch  knocking  Judy  on  the  head  with  his 
stick,  and  the  shrieks  of  Judy  with  an  expression  on  her  face 
of  enjoyment.  That  is  all  there  is  of  it,  and  all  there  ever  has 
been.  And  singular  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  the  first  amusement 
of  an  English  boy,  and  it  delights  him  till  he  dies.  He  enjoyed 
it  at  eight,  and  just  the  same  at  eighty.  iSTo  doubt  he  has  a 
vague  idea  that  he  will  find  a  Punch  and  Judy  show  in  heaven 
when  he  reaches  it. 

But  Punch  and  Judy  shows  are  not  all  the  amusements  of 
the  great  city.  Garden  hose  not  being  common,  owing  to  the 
fewness  of  gardens  and  the  limited  use  of  water,  the  hand 
organ  flourishes  in  all  its  native  ferocity,  the  grinders  being, 
as  over  the  water,  Italian  noblemen  with  their  wives.     And 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


they  are  just  as  dirty  and  grimy  here  as  there.  The  mixed 
brass  and  string  banditti  perambulate  the  streets  making  the 
day  and  early  night  hideous,  and 
in  the  side  streets  where  the  police- 
man is  infrequent  the  street  jug- 
gler plies  biis  vocation. 

One,  for  instance,  has  a  com- 
mon purse  with  four  shillings. 
He  places  the  four  shillings  in  the 
purse,  the  country  yokel  sees 
them  placed  therein,  and  he 
chinks  the  purse.     So  far  as  the 


THE  MAGIC  PURSE. 


countrymen's  eyes  and  ears  go  there  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the 
fact  of  the  four  shillings  being  in  the  purse.  Then  the  fakir 
offers  to  sell  the  purse  to  the  countryman  for  sixpence,  which. 


MUSICAL    NUISANCES.  99 

were  the  shillings  actually  inside,  would  certainly  be  a  bargain. 
The  countryman  pays  the  sixpence,  and  straightway  opens  the 
purse,  but  he  does  not  find  the  sixpence  therein.  It  is  as 
empty  as  his  head.  He  finds  that  he  has  paid  sixpence  for  a 
purse  dear  at  a  penny,  and  he  retires  amid  the  jeers  of  the 
populace. 

As  the  clever  juggler  only  fi,nds  a  few  victims  each  day, 
and  as  from  each  he  makes  only  ten  cents,  I  don't  see  how  he 
expects  to  ever  retire  from  business  and  live  upon  his  hard 
earned  capital.  The  skill,  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and 
hard  work  necessary  to  the  successful  prosecution  of  this  little 
swindle  would  make  him  rich,  with  half  the  wear  and  tear. 
But  such  men  would  rather  work  a  day  to  swindle  somebody 
out  of  sixpence  than  to  earn  a  dollar  by  honest  work  in  a 
quarter  of  the  time.  That  is  why  I  shall  never  go  into  the 
business  of  juggling  with  four  shillings  and  a  penny  purse.  It 
is  disreputable,  and  then  it  does  n't  pay. 

Couples  of  negro  minstrels  are  a  common  sight  on  the 
streets,  one  armed  with  a  banjo,  and  another  with  a  concer- 
tina, that  he  plays  with  an  atrocious  disregard  of  time  and 
tune,  which  under  a  despotism  would  consign  him  to  a  block. 
They  roam  from  house  to  house  and  play,  as  they  call  it.  The 
helpless  family,  worried  to  the  very  verge  of  madness,  throw 
them  sixpence,  and  they  move  on.  They  stand  and  play  till 
they  get  their  sixpence.  The  race  is  not  as  it  was  in  Jem 
Bagg's  day.  He  played  the  clarionet.  "Yen  the  man 
tosses  me  a  sixpence,"  was  his  remark,  and  says  'ISTow,  my 
good  man,  move  hon,'  I  gently  says  to  him,  says  I,  '  I  never 
moves  hon  for  a  sixpence.  I  knows  the  vally  of  peace  and 
and  quietness  too  much  for  that,  and  then,  hif  'e  doesn't  throw 
me  another  sixpence,  I  tips  him  my  corkscrew  hovertoor,  and 
that  halways  fetches  'im.'  " 

In  this  degenerate  day  either  the  street  musicians  have  for- 
gotten their  "  corkscrew  overtoors,"  or  they  are  satisfied  with 
less  money.  A  sixpence  moves  them  on  now  certainly,  but 
woe  be  to  you  if  you  are  short  the  sixpence. 

Kext  door  to  me  lives  a  deaf  man  who  is  a  bachelor.  It  is 
his  delight  to  have  the  musicians  come  to  this  house.  He  sits 
in  the  doorway,  and  they  play  and  play,  and  he  assumes  an 


100 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


ecstatic  expression,  and  they  wonder  why  he  doesn't  order 
them  to  "  move  on,"  but  he  doesn't.  It  amuses  him^  and  they 
play,  till,  lost  in  amazement  at  his  powerful  endurance,  they 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  MUSIC  PROOF. 


put  up  their  instruments  sadly  and  move  on  of  their  own 
accord.  I  get  very  little  amusement  out  of  him  now.  The 
majority  of  the  fiends  have  found  him  out. 


CHArTEE  YI. 


MADAME     TUSSAUD. 


One  of  the  stock  sights  in  London  which  every  foreigner 
as  well  as  every  man,  woman  and  child  from  the  country  who 
goes  to  London,  does  with  great  regularity,  is  Madame 
Tussaud's  Museum.  It  is  known  the  world  over  and  is  as 
regular  a  thing  to  see  as  the  Tower. 

A  great  many  years  ago,  some  time  since  the  flood,  a  Swiss 
woman  named  Tussaud,  who  had  studied  art  in  Paris,  took  the 
brilliant  notion  into  her  wise  head  that  money  was  better  than 
fame,  and  instead  of  spoiling  marble  she  commenced  doing 
some  very  good  things  in  wax.  She  brought  her  figures  to 
London  and  opened  a  museum,  which  she  added  to  and  enlarged 
as  men  and  women  became  of  sufficient  interest  to  attract 
attention,  until  she  got  pretty  much  everybody  of  whom  the 
world  ever  heard. 

She  died  many  years  ago,  but  the  collection  was  continued 
by  her  family,  three  generations  of  which  have  waxed  rich 
and  gone  to  join  those  whom  they  put  so  well  in  wax  in  life. 

This  wonderful  museum,  which  actually  deserves  all  the 
attention  it  gets,  is  filled  with  really  excellent  figures  of  the 
entire  line  of  English  Kings,  dressed  in  the  costumes  of  the 
period  in  which  they  lived,  including  arms,  although  court 
dresses  generally  adorn  them.  As  the  Tussaud  family  were, 
and  are,  artists,  these  figures  are  not  the  limp,  misshapen,  grin- 
ning effigies  usually  exhibited,  but  are  in  size,  stature,  color 
and  general  grouping,  perfect. 

I  cannot  say  that  the  effigies  of  King  Edward  and  Eichard, 
and  those  other  ancient   marauders,  are  correct,  for  I  never 

(101) 


lOti  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

l'sa\^,:'tlliein  m  life. ,  They  died  many  years  ago.  But  all  you 
have  to  do  is  what  Dicken's  Marchioness  did  with  the  orange 
peel  wine :  "  Make  believe  very  hard,"  and  they  will  do.  The 
faces  were  modeled  from  portraits,  and  their  dresses  were 
made   from   actual  costumes  preserved  in  the  curious  reposi- 


MADAME  TUSSAUD. 


tories  of  which  London  is  full.  The  visitor  gets  some  notion  of 
what  the  subjects  were  like,  and  that  ought  to  be  and  is  satis- 
factory. 

You  see,  standing  or  sitting,  marvelous  likenesses  of  all  the 
great  soldiers  and  statesmen  of  England,  but  heavens!  how 
our  poor  Americans  have  been  abused !  Washington  is  about 
as  like  our  Washington  as  he  is  like  an  Ohio  Kiver  coal-boat 


AMERICAN   WORTHIES. 


103 


captain.  Ex-President  Grant  has  good  cause  for  action  for 
libel,  for  such.a  face  as  they  have  put  upon  him  could  not  have 
been  on  a  third  corporal  of  the  poorest  company  in  the  very 
worst  North  Carolina  regiment,  and  President  Hayes  and 
Garfield  have 
been  similarly 
treated.  That 
of  Franklin  is  a 
tolerable  like- 
ness of  the 
maker  of  infer- 
nal maxims,  but 
there  was  a  ma- 
licious design 
evident  on  the 
part  of  .  the 
artists  to  dwarf 
the  Americans, 
as  I  fancy  there 
was  to  enlarge 
and  exaggerate 
the  Englishmen. 
The  groups 
are  something 
wonderful.  The 
Lying  -  in  -  State 
of  the  Czar,  a 
recent  addition, 
is  a  miracle  of 
naturalness  and 
awful  beauty, 
as  is  the  death 
of  Pope  Pius; 
and  they  are  so 

natural  that  one  cannot  help  feeling  that  he  is  in  the  presence 
of  actual  death,  and  not  a  counterfeit  presentment. 

The  Museum  contains,  among  other  curiosities  that  are  of 
interest,  the  identical  coach  used  by  Napoleon  at  the  battle  of 
Waterloo,  with  a  vast  number  of  other  relics  of  the  great  Cor- 


WAX  FIGURES  OF  AMERICANS. 


104  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

sican.  From  the  number  of  ISTapoleonic  relics  I  fancy  that  the 
Madame  was  at  heart  a  French  woman,  though  she  was  making 
her  money  from  the  English. 

Great  halls  are  filled  with  correct  statuary  in  wax  of  the 
world's  great,  or  notorious  men,  all  of  which  have  to  be 
"  done,"  as  a  matter  of  course. 

But  the  great  point,  and  one  which  no  visitor  ever  fails  to 
visit  is  the  "  Chamber  of  Horrors."  You  pay  a  sixpence  extra 
—  there  is  always  sixpence  extra  in  England  —  and  you  are 
introduced  to  the  most  cheerful  assemblage  of  monsters  that 
the  world  has  ever  produced. 

If  there  ever  was  a  murder  committed  of  an  especially 
atrocious  description,  one  done  under  peculiarly  horrifying  and 
terrible  circumstances,  here  is  a  wax  figure  of  the  murderer, 
and,  if  possible,  of  the  victim. 

There  is  the  original  guillotine  which  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  so  many  necks  during  the  various  French  revolutions. 
There  is  the  identical  scaffold  which  was  devised  by  a  man 
condemned  to  be  hung,  and  on  which  he  suffered,  with  forty- 
eight  others  afterward,  before  it  was  retired,  and  there  are 
ropes  and  delightful  articles  of  that  nature  with  which  crimi- 
nals have  suffered,  and  in  such  numbers  that  we  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  principal  business  of  the  English  and 
French  is  to  kill  somebody  and  get  hung  for  it. 

The  two  criminals  in  which  I  took  the  liveliest  interest 
were  Messrs.  Burke  and  Hare,  of  Edinburgh,  Scotland.  These 
gentlemen  had  a  contract  with  the  medical  university  of  Edin- 
burgh, to  furnish  the  students  with  corpses  for  dissection,  which 
they  did  by  resurrecting  them  from  various  church-yards. 

Mr.  Burke,  who  was  evidently  the  leader  in  the  enterprise, 
remarked  one  night  to  Mr.  Hare, —  that  is,  I  presume  he  did  : 

"Why  go  out  this  dark  and  rainy  night  and  dig  in  the 
damp  earth  for  corpses  ?  Digging  corpses  is  all  wrong.  If 
the  friends  of  the  deceased  should  ever  discover  that  a  corpse 
had  been  abstracted  it  would  occasion  the  most  profound  feel- 
ing. We  should  have  more  respect  for  the  survivors  than  to 
raise  their  dead,  and  then,  in  the  interest  of  science,  we  should 
give  the  students  fresher  bodies  for  dissection.  I  am  inflexibly 
opposed  to  digging  any  more." 


THE    CONSULTATION. 


105 


"  But  how  shall  we  get  the  corpses? "  asked  the  obtuse  Mr. 
Hare. 

"  It  is  far  easier,"  replied  Mr.  Burke,  ''  to  knock  a  man  on 
the  head  than  it  is  to  dig  him  up,  and,  in  addition  to  the  other 


DIGHSma  CORPSES  IS  ALL  WRONG. 


reasons  I  have  mentioned,  a  sand-bag  or  a  club  is  cheaper  than 
a  spade." 

And  Mr.  Hare  coinciding  with  Mr.  Burke,  they  went  out 
that  night  and  killed  a  man,  and  they  kept  going  out  and  kill- 
ing men  till  thirty  had  disappeared.  The  authorities  finally- 
got  upon  their  track,  when  Mr.  Hare  turned  States'  evidence 


106 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


and  hung  Mr.  Burke,  and  he  went  peacefully  into  some  other 
business. 

It  is  needless  to  add  that  a  careful  study  of  the  faces  of  the 


THE  IMPROVED   PROCESS  OF  MESSRS.    BURKE  AND  HARE. 


two  men  would  not  lead  one  to  purposely  encounter  them  in 
a  dark  alley  after  twelve  at  night.  Nothing  earthly  could  be 
so  villainous. 

A  little  incident  that  occurred  the  day  I  explored  the 
Museum  illustrates  the  perfection  of  the  modeling  and  draping 
the  figures.  There  were  in  the  j)arty  a  gentleman  and  lady 
from  Pennsylvania,  the  former  being  a  devotee  of  the  alleged 
science  of  phrenology,  and  rather  fond  of  discussing  the 
subiect. 


THE    SCIENCE    OF    PHRENOLOGY. 


107 


A  female  figure  was  standing  on  tlie  floor,  wliich  attracted 
his  attention.     This  was  in  the  Chamber  of  Horrors. 

''I  want  to  call  your  attention,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  "to 
this  illustration  of  the  truth  of  phrenology.  Could  there  be 
modeled  a  more  vicious  face  ?  [N'otice  the  development  back 
of  the  ears,  showing  the  head  to  be  all  animal,  and  the 
pinched  forehead  and  the  general  insignificance  of  the  front 
head  as  compared  with  the  development  of  the  back  portion. 
There  is  murder  in  every  line  of  that  face.    Let  me  see  who  it  is." 

"  Thank  you,"  exclaimed  the  figure  as  it  moved  away.  It 
was  a  very  estimable  American  lady  Avhom  the  phrenologist 
had  mistaken  for  a  wax  figure. 


OSBORN  HOUSE,   ISLE  OF  WIGHT. 


CHAPTEE  YII. 


THE    LONDON    LAWYER. 


London  is  probably  the  most  expensive  place  to  do  business 
in  the  world.  Its  business  men  are  conservative,  so  conserva- 
tive that  they  would  not  for  the  world  part  their  hair  in  any 
way  differing  from  their  fathers,  nor  would  they  adopt  a 
modern  convenience  unless  it  were  absolutely  necessary  to  the 
maintenance  of  English  supremacv,  and  they  would  sigh  as 
they  parted  with  an  old  nuisance  for  a  modern  delight.  Their 
professions  have  all  got  into  ruts  from  which  you  can  no  more 
move  them  than  you  can  the  Pyramids,  and  their  practices  are 
so  established  that  they  may  and  do  do  as  they  please,  without 
regard  to  the  notions  of  any  body. 

An  American  resident  in  London  bargained  for  a  house, 
and  the  lease  had  to  be  transferred.  JN^ow  -in  any  country 
where  a  common  school  exists  almost  anybody  can  assign  a 
lease,  but  not  so  here.  A  solicitor  had  to  be  employed,  and 
afterward  a  contract  long  enough  to  cover  a  sheet  of  legal 
paper  had  to  be  drawn  up.  It  was  a  very  plain  m^atter  —  forty 
words  would  have  been  sufficient.  But  a  solicitor  must  be 
employed  nevertheless.  How  much  do  you  suppose  it  cost 
Mr.  Foote  to  have  this  trifle  of  work  done  ?  As  a  matter  of 
instruction  to  the  American  people  and  for  the  benefit  of 
American  lawyers,  who  are  too  modest  in  their  charges,  and  I 
am  now  convinced  that  the  majority  of  them  are,  I  make  a 
partial  co'py  of  the  solicitor's  bill,  as  it  is  a  more  interesting 
document  than  anything  that  I  can  write.     Here  it  is  : 

(108) 


THE    solicitor's    BILL.  109 

W.  M.  FOOTE,  ESQ  , 

To  BLANK,  BLANK,  Solicitor. 

Re  Star  of  the  West. 

Prior  to  Yourself. 

Clerk  attending  at  Messrs.  Ingram's  (Vendor's  Solicitors),  for  £.     s.  p 

draft  proposed  contract .- 6  8 

Procuring  and  considering  and  found  same  objectionable 6  8 

Instructions  for  contract 6  8 

Drawing  same,  folios  twenty «. ._  1     11  1 

Engrossing  in  two  parts. 1  3 

Writing  Messrs.  Ingram  with  one  part ... _            3  6 

Writing  Mr.  dialler  for  schedule  of  fixtures  to  answer  to  contract            3  6 

Same  as  to  appointment  for  Monday 3  6 

Drawing  telegram  and  attending  to  forward  and  paid 7  8 

Attending  you,  and  then  at  Messrs.  Ingram,  engaged  a  considera- 
ble time  going  through  deed  and  documents,  etc.,  and  set- 
tling contracts  and  signing. 3  0 

Writing  your  hereon,  fully 6  8 

Instructions  for  registration  on  title ^..            6  8 

Drawing  same . 12  0 

Engrossing 4  0 

Attending  to  deliver 6  8 

Replying  to  your  letter 3  6 

Attending  appointing  conference 6  8 

Engrossing  papers,  leases  and  covenants 1     10  0 

Attending  Dr.  Thomson  therewith. 6  8 

Fee  to  him  and  clerk ._.  1      3  6 

Paid  conference  fee .-  1       6  0 

Attending  conference  and  cab  hire. _          13  4 

Perusing  his  opinion -.. 1       0  0 

Writing  you  with  copy  Dr.  Thomson's  opinion. _            6  8 

Making  copy  of  schedule  and  fixtures 5  6 

Waiting  uopn  Messrs.  Ingram  with  same 3  6 

Perusing  abstract 2    10  6 

Writing  with  appointment  to  examine  deeds  with  abstract 3  6 

Attending  examining  deeds  with  abstract,  self  and  clerk 2       2  0 

Attending  searching  liquidation  proceedings  of  Arthur  Coleman 

and  paid - .          14  4 

As  this  remarkable  document  extends  over  four  and  a  half 
pages  of  foolscap  paper  I  will  not  give  it  all.  However,  there 
are  some  other  charges  Avorthy  of  going  upon  record.  For 
instance  this  item : 

A  replying  to  your  letter 3  6 

And  this: 

Attending  you  long  conference,  and  you  left  cheque  for  purchase 

money 13      4  0 

Writing  you  fully _ 3  6 

Attending  appointing  conference 3  6 


110 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


The  entire  bill  footed  up  forty-two  pounds,  fourteen  shillings 
and  ten  pence,  which,  reduced  to  bird  of  freedom  money 
amounts  to  about  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars. 

And  all  this  for  transferring  a  lease  from  one  party  to 
another,  about  which  operation  there  couldn't  be  the  slightest 
trouble,  except  as  the  two  attorneys  made  it. 

Doubtless  the  Messrs.  Ingram  and  Dr.  Thomson,  whatever 
he  had  to  do  with  it,  put  in  a  similar  bill  against  their  clients, 
so  both  sides  had  a  very  good  thing  of  it. 

But  this  was  not  all  there  was  of  it.  It  was  necessary  that 
Mr.  Foote  should  have  a  little  article  of  agreement  with  Mr. 
Welch,  his  manager,  not  that  there  was  any  especial  need  for 


THE  LONDON  LAWYEK. 


it,  but  as  a  mere  matter  of  form,  as  we  say  when  we  want  a 
sure  thing  on  somebody.  The  same  attorney  was  employed  to 
do  this,  in  fact  he  suggested  it  and  did  it  before  this  bill  was 
presented. 


Ill 

The  bill  for  this  service  is  precisely  like  the  other.  There 
are  items  for  "attendance,"  for  "preparing  telegrams,"  for 
"  waiting,  self  and  clerk,"  for  "  instructions,"  and  so  on,  the 
amount  charged  for  preparing  an  article  of  agreement  being 
eight  pounds  sterling. 

The  attorney's  fees  for  the  whole  of  this  trifling  piece  of 
business  footed  up  exactly  seventy-two  pounds  sterling,  or  three 
hundred  and  sixty  dollars. 

"  What  do  these  items  mean  ? "  I  asked  Mr.  Foote. 

"Well,  the  items  for  attendance  mean  that  I  went  to  his 
office  and  told  him  in  three  minutes'  time  what  I  wanted,  and 
he  made  minutes  with  a  pencil." 

"The  clerk?" 

"  Oh,  they  never  go  anywhere  without  a  clerk.  His  busi- 
ness is  to  carry  a  green  bag  with  nothing  in  it,  and  look  like 
an  umpire.  All  the  writing  of  letters,  for  which  he  relentlessly 
charged  three  shillings  and  sixpence  each,  was  totally  unneces- 
sary, as  they  related  to  matters  of  which  I  fully  informed  him 
at  the  beginning.  But  he  was  the  most  industrious  letter  writer 
I  ever  saw.  And  I  would  answer  his  letters  like  an  idiot,  and 
he  charged  for  replying  to  mine,  and  then,  he  would  write 
again  and  charge  for  that,  and  so  on.  And  when  he  couldn't 
deceotly  write  another  letter^  he  would  telegraph  me  and 
charge  for  that,  and  —  well,  if  I  had  taken  two  leases  I 
shouldn't  have  been  through  till  this  time. 

"Did  you  pay  it?" 

"  Pay  it  ?  Of  course  I  did.  To  have  resisted  would  have 
been  ruin.  He  would  have  sued  me,  and  I  should  have  had  to 
have  employed  another  attorney,  and  the  case  would  have  gone 
into  the  courts,  after  about  a  thousand  instructions,  confer- 
ences, letters,  and  telegrams,  and  clerks,  and  all  that,  from 
him  —  the  same  as  this  —  and  it  Avould  have  dragged  along^ 
with  more  clerks,  and  letters,  and  telegrams,  till  the  crack 
o'  doom.  Instead  of  bills  of  four  pages  I  should  have  had  bills 
of  forty,  and  then  there  would  have  been  money  to  be  paid  on 
account,  and  bail,  and  the  Lord  only  knows  what.  A  law  suit 
in  London  means  ruin  to  everybody  but  the  lawyers  and  offi- 
cers of  the  court.  And  in  the  end  I  should  have  been  com- 
pelled to  pay  it,  for  the  courts  take  care  of  the  attorneys. 


112  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

And,  after  all,  he  only  made  the  regular  charges  that  every 
London  lawyer  does.  Indeed,  as  he  omitted  twice  to  charge 
three  and  six  pence  for  bidding  me  good  morning,  I  don't 
know  but  that  he  is  rather  liberal  than  otherwise.  I  think," 
said  Mr.  Foote,  reflectively,  "  that  three  times  he  shook  my 
hand,  and  I  find  no  charge  for  that.  On  the  whole,  he  is 
a  tolerable  fair  lawyer  to  do  business  with." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  him." 

'^  He  is  one  of  say  twenty  thousand  lawyers  in  London  who 
get  a  case  like  this,  occasionally.  He  occupies  "  chambers,"  as 
they  call  their  offices,  and  keeps  a  clerk,  as  they  all  have  to,  to 
ever  expect  any  business,  as  a  lawyer  without  a  clerk  would 
have  no  standmg.  The  clerk  spends  most  of  his  time  eating 
ham  sandwiches,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  except  when  his 
employer  gets  a  man  like  myself  on  a  string,  on  which  occa- 
sion he  follows  him  about  carrying  a  bag  which  is  supposed  to 
contain  papers  of  great  moment.  My  lease  was  all  that  Avas 
in  that  bag  for  a  month  or  more.  He  lives  well  all  the  time, 
for  no  matter  how  poor  he  may  be,  or  how  little  business  he 
has,  he  must  live  well  for  the  sake  of  appearance.  Finally  he 
does  get  the  management  of  a  good  estate,  and  is  fixed  for  life. 
An  Englishman  reposes  confidence  in  his  solicitor,  and  would 
no  more  think  of  disputing  a  charge  made  by  him  than  he 
would  of  heading  a  rebellion.  They  are  doubtless  a  very  nice 
lot,  but  the  less  you  have  to  do  with  them  the  better.  A  little 
of  them  go  a  long  way.  Dispute  his  bill,  not  I.  I  don't  want 
to  make  England  a  permanent  residence,  for  I  hope  to  get 
back  to  America  some  time,  and  a  law  suit  would  keep  me 
here  all  my  life,  provided  I  had  money  enough  to  pay  fees 
and  costs.     They'll  hold  on  you  as  long  as  you've  a  penny." 

That  Mr.  Foote  did  not  exaggerate,  I  know.  Had  I  sup- 
posed he  had  been  exaggerating  I  should  not  have  written 
this.  But  I  copied  this  bill  from  the  original,  which  was 
receipted  by  the  attorney,  who,  doubtless,  sighed  as  he  wrote 
his  name,  that  some  mistake  had  not  occurred  which  made 
litigation  necessary.   ^ 


CHAPTEE  Yin.       , 

SOME    NOTES     AS     TO     THE    INVESTMENT     OF     ENGLISH    CAPITAL,    AND 
ALSO   BRITISH    PATENT   MEDICINES. 

It  is  a  very  common  remark  that  Americans  love  to  be 
humbugged.  Perhaps  they  do,  but  their  English  cousins  can 
give  them  points  in  this  desire.  The  ease  with  which  adven- 
turers and  bogus  schemers  get  their  claws  into  English  money- 
bags, is  something  astounding.  Perhaps  it  is  because  the 
nation  has  so  much  money  that  it  don't  know  what  to  do  with 
it,  or  possibly  because  the  Englishman  is  naturally  credulous, 
but  it  is  a  fact  that  London  is  the  paradise  of  the  sharper,  and 
the  pleasant  pasture  for  the  bogus  speculator. 

There  are  several  reasons  for  it.  Interest  is  very  low  in 
England,  and  for  the  man  who  desires  to  live  "  like  a  gentle- 
man" the  temptation  to  increase  the  rate  is  very  strong. 
Then  again  there  is  an  immense  amount  of  capital  lying  idle 
and  seeking  investment,  and  the  man  who  has  just  enough 
money  at  three  per  cent,  to  live  upon  very  closely,  is  always 
anxious  to  increase  his  income  by  making  it  ^x.  Every  man 
who  has  just  money  enough  to  drink  beer,  has  an  insatiable 
thirst  for  champagne.  And  the  Englishman  who  has  a 
strong  sense  of  mercantile  honor,  naturally  has  more  faith 
than  the  inhabitant  of  a  country  where  the  standard  of  honor 
is  lower,  and  men  are,  by  habit,  more  cautious  of  believing. 

The  papers  of  London  are  filled  with  prospectuses  of  com- 
panies organized  for  developing  something  in  all  parts  of  the 
world,  and  these  prospectuses  are  so  written  that  they  would 
deceive  the  very  elect. 

The  principal  point  at  the  beginning  is  to  get  a  board  with 
a  great  many  lords,  dukes,  esquires,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
on  it,  the  average  Englishman  not  seeming  to  realize  that 
8  (118) 


114  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

there  are  a  good  many  of  these  gentry  who  are  as  impecunious 
as  anybody  else,  and  who  would  do  a  piece  of  roguery  for 
enough  to  live  upon  comfortably  upon  the  continent,  as 
readily  as  the  commonest  sharper  in  the  world.  The  baronet 
has  a  stomach  to  fill  and  a  back  to  cover  the  same  as  the 
costermonger.     In  this,  all  humanity  stands  upon  an  equahty. 

Before  me  lies  a  repectable  paper,  its  pages  filled  with 
glowing  advertisements  of  projected  companies.  The  first  is 
for  the  "Acquiring  and  further  developing  the  well-known 
so-and-so  gold  mine,"  in  Venezuela. 

It  begins  with  the  Board  of  Directors,  not  one  of  whom  is 
less  in  degree  than  an  Esquire,  and  several  "  Sirs"  figure  in  it. 
Then  comes  the  bankers  —  nothing  in  London  is  complete  with- 
out a  banker  —  then  solicitors,  then  brokers.  After  this  elabo- 
rate outfit,  all  of  which  looks  as  solvent  and  sound  as  the  Bank 
of  England,  comes  a  glowing  prospectus. 

Nothing  can  be  finer  than  this  prospectus.  "  The  property 
proposed  to  be  acquired  consists  of  six  hundred  and  fifty-nine 
acres,  which  contain  the  most  of  the  noted  Venezuela  gold 
mines.  The  vein  has  been  traced  on  the  surface  for  a  distance 
of  one  thousand  nine  hundred  feet,"  and  so  on.  Then  comes  a 
very  complete  table  showing  the  profit  that  has  heen  made 
mining  in  Venezuela,  and  after  this  a  statement  from  "Mr. 
George  Atwood,  A.  M.  Inst.,  C.  E.,  E.  G.  S.,  etc.,  etc.,"— it 
would  not  be  complete  without  all  these  initials,  even  to  the 
etc.,  the  etc.,  showing  that  as  learned  as  is  stated  there  is  more 
behind  him, —  who  makes  a  statement  as  to  the  probable 
profits  of  the  enterprise,  all  of  which  are  as  good  as  anybody 
could  desire.  The  estimated  profits  are  set  down  at  twenty 
per  cent,  on  the  investment. 

The  capital  wanted  is  two  million  five  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  in  shares  of  five  dollars  each.  Yoa  are  asked  to  pay 
the  moderate  sum  of  sixty-two  cents  on  application,  which  is 
modest  enough,  and  the  balance  of  the  five  dolkirs  you  pay  as 
the  work  goes  on. 

What  could  be  better  than  this  ?  Here  is  a  man  with  some 
money  bearing  three  per  cent.,  and  here  is  a  proposition  to 
give  him  twenty  per  cent.  There  are  "  Honorables,"  and 
"  Sirs,"  and  "Esquires"  on  the  board,  and  Mr.  Atwood,  F.  E. 


AIK-CASTLES.  115 

S.,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  shows  that  twenty  per  cent,  has  been 
made  in  Yenezuela.  Why  should  not  the  man  convert  some 
of  his  beggarly  three  per  cents,  into  cash  and  take  a  shy  at  it, 
as  Wall  street  would  say,  and  set  up  his  carriage  on  the 
profits  ?  True,  he  don't  know  one  of  the  Sirs  or  Honorables, 
and  Atwood,  F.  R.  S.,  etc.,  is  quite  as  unknown  to  him.  But 
then  the  advertisements !  They  cover  half  a  page  in  each 
paper  in  London,  and  that  costs  an  immense  sum,  and  were 
there  not  something  in  it  how  could  they  make  that  vast 
expenditure  ? 

He  takes  it,  never  dreaming  that  the  speculators  who  pay 
for  these  advertisements,  do  it  for  the  purpose  of  catching  just 
such  gudgeons  as  he  is,  knowing,  for  they  know  human  nature, 
that  the  modest  announcements  that  are  made  for  really  solid 
investments,  would  not  catch  him  at  all. 

There  are  projected  companies  for  supplying  London  with 
fish,  all  with  boards  of  directors,  and  all  promising  from 
ten  to  twenty  per  cent,  profit,  not  one  of  them  with  less  than 
two  million  five  hundred  thousand  dollars  capital,  in  shares  of 
five  dollars  each.  ]N"ow  there  is  no  city  in  the  world  so  well 
supplied  with  fish  as  London,  in  fact  the  supply  is  far  beyond 
the  demand,  and  there  is  no  city  Avhich  has  cheaper  sea  food. 
There  being  innumerable  private  firms  in  the  business,  and 
there  being  fish  markets  everywhere,  it  would  be  supposed 
that  a  man  of  fair  intelligence  would  question  the  possibility 
of  any  new  company  being  able  to  compete  in  the  business 
profitably.  But,  as  in  the  mining  companies,  the  array  of 
names,  and  the  deliciously  worded  prospectus,  are  hooks  that 
never  fail  to  catch.  It  is  not  the  fish  in  the  sea  that  these 
fellows  are  after. 

These  are  only  specimen  bricks.  There  are  companies  for 
the  development  of  iron  mines,  of  tin  mines,  of  copper  mines, 
and  all  other  kinds  of  mines  in  England,  Spain,  Algeria,  India, 
and  everywhere  under  the  sun,  companies  proposing  to  buy 
vast  tracts  of  land  in  Iowa,  Minnesota,  Wisconsin,  Colorado, 
New  Mexico,  and  everywhere  else,  each  with  its  board  of 
noblemen,  its  bankers  and  solicitors. 

The  American  sharpers  who  have  mines  in  Colorado  and 
Nevada  have  reaped  a  rich  harvest.     The  city  is  full  of  them. 


116  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

You  shall  see  about  the  place  where  Americans  most  do  con- 
gregate, sharp  faced  fellows,  dressed  very  seedily,  whose  trow- 
sers  are  chewed  off  at  the  heel,  and  whose  coats  bear  unmista- 
kable evidence  of  having  passed  through  the  renovator's  hands 
a  great  many  times,  and  would  again  if  their  proprietors  only 
had  the  one-and-nine  pence  necessary,  or  had  another  to  wear 
while  it  was  being  done,  the  said  coats  buttoned  very  closely 
to  the  throat,  so  closely  that  a  cheap  scarf  conceals  the  condi- 
tion of  the  shirt  beneath,  if  happily  there  be  one,  standing 
listlessly,  as  if  waiting  for  some  one  who  will  never  come. 

They  know  you  to  be  an  American  at  once,  and  one  intro- 
duces himself,  claiming  to  have  seen  you  in  the  States : 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ? "  is  your  first  inquiry. 

"Oh,  I  have  been  here  a  year.  I  came  over  to  place  a 
mine  I  own  in  Nevada." 

''How  are  you  getting  on?" 

"  Splendid !  I  just  sold  the  half  of  it  for  five  hundred  thous. 
and  dollars.  I  ought  to  have  got  more  for  it,  but  I  am  tired 
of  waiting,  and  want  to  get  home,  and  so  I  let  it  go.  Five 
hundred  thousand  dollars  is  a  good  sum,  and  then  1  retain  a 
half  interest  in  it.  It  will  make  me  all  the  money  I  shall  ever 
want.  By  the  way  have  you  met  any  of  the  nobility  ?  JN'o  ? 
I  shall  be  glad  to  introduce  you  to  the  Duke  of  Buccleugh. 
I  am  going  down  to  his  country  seat  to-morrow.  He  is  inter- 
ested with  me,  and  he's  a  devilish  clever  fellow." 

You  plead  a  prior  engagement  if  you  are  wise,  but  you 
have  not  seen  the  last  of  your  American  friend  who  has  just 
sold  the  half  of  a  mine  for  five  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Oh, 
no !  For  the  next  day  he  will  be  waiting  for  you,  and  he  will 
volunteer  to  go  about  with  you  in  so  persistent  a  way  that  you 
cannot  refuse  without  being  brutally  blunt,  and  after  taking 
you  to  all  sorts  of  show  places  which  are  open  to  anybody,  and 
which  you  want  no  guide  for,  he  will  establish  himself  in  such 
a  way  as  to  make  you  feel,. whether  or  no,  that  he  has  some 
claim  upon  you. 

Then  comes  the  final  stroke.  As  you  part  with  him,  he 
will  take  you  one  side,  and  then  this : 

"  By  the  way,  I  am  waiting  for  the  final  drawing  of  papers 
to  complete  the  sale,  when  I  get  my  money.     I  have  been  here 


THE    AMERICAN    MINE-OWNER.  117 

SO  long  that  I  have  exhausted  my  ready  money,  and  my  remit- 
tances did  not  come  by  the  last  steamer,  but  they  must  come 
by  the  next,  which  will  be  Saturday.  Would  you  mind  lend- 
ing me  five  pounds  till  Saturday? " 

You  have  but  little  pocket-money,  you  say. 

"  An  order  on  the  American  Exchange  will  do  as  well." 

You  never  give  orders. 

He  lowers  his  want,  till,  finally,  when  he  gets  down  to  ^ve 
shillings  you  give  it  to  him,  glad  to  be  rid  of  him  so  cheaply. 

IS'evertheless  this  fellow  will  finally  sell  his  mine,  or  his 
alleged  mine.  All  he  has  to  do  is  to  wait  long  enough,  and 
he  will  find  some  credulous  Englishman  who  will  bite  at  the 
naked  hook,  and  put  his  name  and  influence  to  it,  and  it  will 
be  done.  Then  he  will  go  home  and  establish  himself  in  good 
style,  and  be  a  prominent  man. 

But  what  becomes  of  the  English  investors?  Echo 
answers.  It  is  a  conundrum  that  goes  echoing  down  the 
ages,  and  will  only  be  answ^ered  in  that  period  of  the  next 
world  when  everything  shall  be  made  plain.  The  poor  widow 
who  put  her  little  pittance  in  the  hands  of  these  sharks  doubt- 
less started  a  private  school,  if  she  was  qualified  for  it,  or 
made  use  of  her  one  accomplishment,  painting,  music  or 
what  not,  to  earn  a  miserable  existence.  The  poor  clerk  who 
was  saving  to  purchase  a  home  of  his  own,  went  back  to  his 
lodgings  and  put  his  nose  freshly  upon  the  grindstone,  and 
the  young  tradesman  went  into  bankruptcy,  his  shop  passed 
out  of  his  hands,  and  he  served  where  he  had  once  com- 
manded. And  the  shark,  if  an  English  one,  shelters  himself 
behind  his  assumed  name,  or  goes  to  the  Continent,  and  lives 
in  luxury  all  his  days 

Inasmuch  as  these  things  have  been  going  on  ever  since 
the  South  Sea  bubble  it  would  seem  that  people  would  get 
wiser,  and  know  better  than  to  put  their  all  in  such  wild-cat 
schemes.  But  bear  this  in  mind,  the  loser  never  admits  that 
he  lost  in  so  stupid  a  way,  and  his  fellows  are  never  fully 
informed  about  it,  and  besides  there  are  children  born  every 
day,  a  certain  percentage  of  them  with  sharp  teeth,  and 
the  rest  with  fat.  The  teeth  find  the  fat,  the  shark  finds 
the  gudgeon  invariably.     That's  his  business.     When  I  read 


118 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


these  prospectuses  I  find  myself  getting  up  a  great  deal  of 
respect  for  the  old  barons  who,  when  they  wanted  money, 
seized  a  rich  Jew  and  starved  him  awhile  in  a  dungeon,  and  if 


THE  OLD  ENGLISH  WAY  OF  PROCURING  A  LOAN. 

that  gentle  treatment  did  not  suffice  to  extract  the  requisite 
cash,  pulled  out  his  teeth,  one  by  one,  till  he  disgorged.  In 
those  dsijs  a  venerable  Jew  whose  teeth  were  all  gone  was  as 
fortunate  as  the  man  caught  by  the  Indians  who  was  bald  and 
wore  a  wig — he  saved  his  scalp. 

These  ancient  robbers  did  not  add  grandiloquent  lying  to 
theft.     It  was  with  them  a  simple  taking  of  what  they  wanted 


LONDON    QUACKS.  119 

without  circumlocution.  It  was  highAvay  robbery  to  picking 
pockets,  and  was  certainly  the  preferable  of  the  two. 

Were  I  an  Emperor,  with  absolute  power,  I  should  imme- 
diately discharge  the  honest  soldier,  who  would  work  for  a 
living  were  he  out  of  the  service,  and  draft  in  the  army  all 
these  fellows.  And  the  regiments  composed  of  them  should 
lead  every  forlorn  hope,  charge  every  battery,  and  do  all  the 
dangerous  and  fatiguing  work  that  soldiers  have  to  do.  A 
country  could  afford  to  lose  a  great  many  battles  to  rid  itself 
of  these  worse  than  thieves. 

Do  you  remember  Dickens'  Montagu  Tigg  in  Martin  Chuz- 
zlewit  ?  I  used  to  think  it  an  overdrawn  picture,  but  it  is  not. 
It  is  as  correct  a  portrait  as  was  ever  limned. 

America  has  been  deemed  the  paradise  of  the  Cfuack,  but 
before  England  she  must  pale  her  ineffectual  fires,  l^ext  to 
beer,  patent  medicines  stare  you  in  the  face  everywhere.  The 
walls  fairly  shine  with  the  advertisements  of  remedies  for 
every  disease  known  to  the  faculty,  and  when  that  supply  runs 
out  the  ingenious  proprietor  invents  a  stock  of  new  ailments 
that  never  did  exist,  and  inasmuch  as  the  least  of  them  are 
six  syllabled  ones,  it  is  to  be  hoped  never  will. 

There  are  medicines  for  the  liver,  for  the  kidneys,  for  the 
lungs,  for  the  feet,  for  the  head,  for  the  ears,  for  the  eyes,  for 
the  scalp,  for  the  hair,  and  for  every  part  and  parcel  of  the 
human  body,  and  for  every  animal  that  man  has  subjugated 
-and  brought  subservient  to  his  will.  There  are  certificates 
from  Lords,  and  Dukes,  and  Honorables,  as  to  the  efficiency  of 
Hobson's  Vermifuge,  though  with  these  it  is  always  a  tenant's 
child  that  was  cured,  the  scions  of  noble  houses  being  of 
too  blue  blood  to  ever  have  so  vulgar  a  complaint.  In  case 
of  gout,  or  any  genuinely  aristocratic  ailment,  they  are  not  so 
particular. 

The  advertisement  of  every  remedy  ends  Avitli  the  an- 
nouncement : — 

"As  there  are  unprincipled  parties  in  the  kingdom  who 
seize  upon  every  article  of  known  merit,  to  imitate  the  same, 
the  purchasers  of  Hobson's  remedies  are  respectfully  requested 
to  particularly  observe  the  label  on  the  bottles.  The  name  of 
"**  Ilobson  "  is  printed  on  the  steel  engraving,  on  the  face  of  the 


120 


NxiSBY    IN    EXILE. 


bottle,  fourteen  hundred  and  sixty-three  times,  and  without 
this  none  are  genuine.     Beware  of  fraudulent  imitations." 

And  the  British  dame  will  stand  at  the  counter  and  count 
the  wearying  repetition,  much  to  the  disgust  of  the  shopman 

who,  knowing 
ji;  that  the  remedy 
|is  only  three 
idays  old,  and 
;that  there  are 
m  o  imitations, 
and  never  will 
\  be,  wants  her  to 
•take  her  bottle 
of  the  stuff  and 
move  on  and 
make  room  for 
another  victim. 
Their  ingenu- 
ity in  advertis- 
ing is  as  good 
as  that  of  their 
i  trans- Atlantic 
brethren.  You 
l^i  see  vast  vans 
driven  slowly 
up  and  down 
the  streets,  built 
up  twenty  feet 
with  canvass, 
showing  an 
emaciated  mor- 
tal, with  scarcely  an  hour  of  life  in  him,  with  the  legend 
underneath,  ^'Before  taking  Gobson's  Elixir,"  and  the  same 
party  dressed,  and  walking  the  streets  with  the  physical  per- 
fection of  a  prize  fighter,  and  underneath,  "After  taking 
Gobson's  Elixir."  Transparencies  at  night  flash  forth  the 
miraculous  virtues  of  "  Hopkins'  Saline  Draught,"  and  there 
isn't  an  inch  of  dead  wall  anywhere  that  has  not  its  burden 
of  announcements.     Long  processions  of    ragged  men    the 


BEWARE  OP  FRAUDULENT  IMITATIONS.' 


THE    LONDON    ADVEETISEE.  121 

most  of  them  too  old  and  weak  to  do  anything  else,  march 
along  the  sidewalks  sandwiched  between  two  boards,  each 
one  bearing  testimony  to  the  virtues  of  some  wonderful  com- 
pound, there  being  enough  of  them  to  weary  the  eye  and  make 
one  wish  he  could  go  somewhere  where  advertising  was 
impossible. 

One  of  these  human  sandwiches  remarked  to  me  that  the 
boards  were  a  little  uncomfortable  in  the  Summer,  but  the 
two  made  a  mighty  good  overcoat  in  the  Winter. 

And  as  if  there  was  not  enough  of  it  already,  an  enterpris- 
ing Yankee  is  here  with  a  steam  whale,  ninety  feet  long, 
spouting  water  sixty  feet  high,  the  machinery  and  crew  con- 
cealed in  the  boat  on  which  it  rests,  which  is  to  ply  up  and 
down  the  beautiful  Thames,  bearing  upon  either  side  the 
announcement  of  a  liver  pill.  The  proprietor  gives  him  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  the  use  of  it  for  the  season,  and  bears  all 
the  expenses  of  running  it.  It  is  very  like  a  whale,  and  as  it 
attracts  much  attention  will  doubtless  pay  a  handsome  profit 
to  the  man  by  whom  it  has  been  engaged. 

The  papers  are  full  of  such  advertising,  the  only  difference 
between  England  and  America  being  that  the  advertisements 
here  are  more  elegantly  written,  and  couched  in  really  superior 
English  which  ours  are  not,  always.  The  English  shoemaker 
who  turns  doctor,  employs  the  best  literary  talent  at  command 
to  write  his  announcements,  and  he  pays  more  liberally  than 
the  magazines  do  the  same  men.  Many  a  London  writer, 
struggling  for  fame  and  a  place  in  literature,  makes  a  hand- 
some addition  to  his  slender  income  by  going  into  the  service 
of  these  patent  medicine  vendors. 

]S"early  all  of  them  succeed.  The  British  public  are  a 
medicine-taking  people  by  nature.  There  are  not  many  dis- 
eases upon  the  island  naturally,  but  the  inhabitants  create  a 
very  large  number  by  their  habits.  The  universal  use  of  beer 
—  and  vile  stuff  it  is  —  is  not  conducive  to  general  health,  and 
the  Englishman  is  about  the  heartiest  eater  on  the  globe.  He 
is  more  than  hearty  —  he  verges  very  closely  upon  the  glutton- 
ous. Consequently  he  needs  medicines,  and  the  manufacturers 
adapt  themselves  to  the  market.  There  are  more  than  a 
thousand   "after  dinner  pills,"  warranted  to  correct  all  the 


122 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


effect  of  ''  over-indulgence  at  the  table,"  which  means  that  it 
will  do  something  toward  keeping  up  a  man  who  eats  about 
four  times  what  he  ought  to,  and  drinks  enough  every  year  to 
drive  an  American  or  Frenchman  into  delirium  tremens. 

The  market  for  these  goods  is  world-wide,  and  enormous 
fortunes  are  amassed.  I  must  say,  however,  that  the  trade  is 
not  in  the  best  repute.  Many  brewers  have  been  knighted, 
but  no  patent  medicine  man.  In  the  matter  of  ennobling 
people  the  line  must  be  drawn  somewhere.  Dickens'  barber 
drew  it  at  the  baker — the  English  draw  it  at  the  brewer. 


THE  OLD  TEMPLE  BAR. 


CHAPTEK  IX. 


PETTICOAT    LANE. 


There  is  no  Petticoat  Lane  any  more,  some  finnicky  board 
having  very  foolishly  clianged  the  good  old  name  to  Middlesex 
street.  There  was  something  suggestive  in  the  name  "  Petti- 
coat Lane,"  for  it  indicated  with  great  accuracy  the  business 
carried  on  there,  but  there  is  nothing  suggestive  about  Middle- 
sex street.  It  might  as  well  have  been  called  Wellington 
street,  or  Wesley  street,  or  Washington  street.  I  hate  tliese 
changes.  A  street  is  a  street,  and  calling  it  an  avenue  don't 
make  it  so.  Why  not  Petticoat  Lane  ?  By  any  other  name  it 
smells  as  strong.  It  is  Petticoat  Lane  and  always  will  be 
Petticoat  Lane,  and  despite  the  edict  of  the  board,  the 
Londoner  calls  it  by  that  title  and  always  will. 

Petticoat  Lane  is  a  long,  tortuous  narrow  street,  properly 
a  lane,  (about  the  width  of  an  ordinary  alley  in  an  American 
city,)  in  the  heart  of  the  city  proper.  It  is  probably  the 
dirtiest  spot  on  the  globe.  If  there  is  a  dirtier  I  do  not 
wish  to  see  it — or,  more  especially,  to  smell  it.  It  is  the  very 
acme  of  filth,  the  incarnation  of  dirt,  and  the  very  top,  the 
peaked  point  of  the  summit  of   rottenness. 

A  friend  of  mine  who  had  lost  the  sense  of  smell  was 
condoled  with  on  his  misfortune. 

''  Don't  pity  me,"  he  said,  ''  please  don't.  It  is  a  blessing, 
and  not  a  misfortune.  In  this  imperfect  world  there  are  more 
bad  smells  than  perfumes.  If  I  am  deprived  of  one  delight  I 
escape  a  dozen  inflictions.  If  I  can't  enjoy  the  rose,  I,  at 
least,  dodge  the  tan  yard." 

Precisely  so  another  friend  who  had  his  right  leg  torn  off 
in  a  threshing  machine  during  the  war,  reveled  in  his  cork  leg, 
because,  having  but  one  flesh  and  blood  foot,  he  only  took  half 
the  chances  of  ordinary  mortals  of  taking  cold  from  wet  feet. 

(123) 


124  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

So  does  philosophy  turn  misfortunes  into  blessings.  To 
carry  out  the  idea  I  suppose  the  more  troubles  happen  to  a 
man  the  happier  he  should  be.  Would  that  I  could  take  life 
that  way,  but  I  can't.  Unfortunately  the  day  I  was  in  Petti- 
coat Lane  my  sense  of  smell  was  unusually  acute,  at  least  so 
it  seemed  to  me. 

Philosophers  of  this  school  should  spend  a  great  deal  of 
their  time  in  Petticoat  Lane,  for  in  that  savory  locality  all  the 
senses  one  needs  are  his  eyes  and  ears.  A  loss  of  smell  there 
would  be  a  blessing. 

It  is  the  especial  street  belonging  to  the  Jews.  ISTot  the 
Jews  we  have  in  America,  the  bright,  busy,  active  men,  who 
have  left  their  impress  upon  every  spot  they  have  touched, 
who  have  done  so  much  to  make  America  what  it  is — not  the 
well-dressed,  well-housed  leader  in  business  and  everything  else 
he  puts  his  hands  to,  but  the  old  kind  of  Jew,  the  Jew  of 
Poland,  with  the  long  beard  and  long  coat,  very  like  the 
gaberdine  we  see  in  pictures  and  on  the  stage,  the  Jew  of 
Shakespeare,  the  Jew  who  will  trade  in  anything,  and  live  in 
a  way  that  no  other  race  or  section  of  a  race  on  earth  can  live. 
There  is  a  denser  population  in  Petticoat  Lane,  I  verily  believe, 
than  anywhere  else  on  the  globe,  outside  of  China,  and  it  is 
all  Hebrew. 

You  should  go  Sunday  morning,  which  is  their  especial 
day,  and  get  there  about  ten  o'clock,  to  see  it  in  all  its  glory. 
All  places  for  selling  liquor  in  London  are  closed  part  of  the 
day  Sunday,  except  in  this  street ;  but  here  they  are  all  open 
and  in  full  blast.  Whether  there  is  a  special  exception  made 
by  law,  or  whether  there  is  a  tacit  winking  at  the  violation  by 
the  authorities  because  of  the  religion  of  the  people,  I  do  not 
know ;  but  it  is  a  fact  that  in  this  street  the  beer  shops  are 
open  all  day  and  a  thriving  business  they  do. 

It  is  the  busiest  place  I  ever  saw.  The  streets  are  crowded, 
not  the  sidewalks  only,  but  the  streets,  to  the  very  center. 
You  see  no  horse-drawn  vehicles  —  it  is  all  people.  Barrows  and 
carts  drawn  by  people,  men  or  women,  are  the  only  vehicles. 
There* would  be  no  room  for  any  other.  The  fiery  steed 
attached  to  a  hansom,  which  shares  its  driver's  noble  ambition 
to  run  down  a  foot  passenger,  would  be  tamed  in  Petticoat 


THE    HOME    OF    SECOND-HAND. 


125 


Lane.    The  number  of  opportunities  to  run  down  people  would 
embarrass,  and,  finally,  subdue  him. 

What  do  all  these  people  do  ?    It  would  be  easier  to  ansAver 


THE  SIDEWALK  SHOE-STORE. 


the  question.  What  don't  they  do?  They  do  everything.  If 
there  is  an  article  on  earth  —  that  is,  a  second-hand  article, — 
that  is  not  bought  and  sold  in  Petticoat  Lane  on  Sunday  morn- 


126  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

ing,  I  have  not  seen  it.  You  can  buy  anything  you  want  there, 
provided  you  want  it  second-hand,  from  a  knitting  needle  to  a 
ship's  anchor.  There  is  nothing  in  the  street  that  is  not  second- 
hand, except  the  people.  They  all  bear  the  stamp  of  origi- 
nality, ever}^  one  of  them.  They  are  born  traders.  If  a  pair 
of  Petticoat  Lane  Jew  twins  in  a  cradle  don't  trade  teething 
rings,  and  attempt  to  swindle  each  other,  the  father  and  mother 
drop  tears  of  sorrow  over  them,  and  as  soon  as  they  are  old 
enough,  take  them  out  of  the  place  and  apprentice  them  to  a 
trade.  Without  this  manifestation  they  would  not  be  con- 
sidered good  enough  for  Petticoat  Lane.  Yery  few  have,  how, 
ever,  been  so  apprenticed. 

Here  is  a  hideous  old  woman  on  the  sidewalk  with  her  stock 
in  trade  under  her  eye,  and  a  sharp  eye  it  is,  arranged  along 
the  curb.  What  is  it  ?  A  few  dozen  or  more  pairs  of  boots 
and  shoes,  in  all  stages  of  dilapidation,  carefully  polished,  and 
made  to  look  as  respectable  as  possible,  any  pair  of  which  (by 
the  way,  they  are  not  always  mates,)  you  shall  buy,  if  you 
desire,  at  any  price  ranging  from  a  penny  to  a  shilling.  JSTo 
matter  what  the  ancient  dame  gets  for  them,  she  has  made  a 
profit.  She  picked  them  up  on  the  streets,  save  a  few  that  she 
may  have  borrowed  when  the  owner  was  not  looking.  What 
anybody  wants  of  these  remnants,  these  ghosts  of  foot  wear,  I 
can't  conceive.  But  she  sells  them.  The  trade  is  consum- 
mated easily  after  the  chaffering  is  over  with.  The  purchaser 
pays  the  woman,  and  sheds  the  worse  ones  he  has  on,  and  puts 
on  his  acquisition,  and  wends  his  way.  Probably  in  an  hour 
he  would  be  glad  to  trade  back,  but  it  is  too  late. 

l^ext  to  her  stands  a  cart,  which  is  a  portable  hardware 
store.  There  are  hinges,  nails,  all  second-hand,  carpenter's 
tools,  axes,  locks,  keys,  and  all  sorts  of  iron-mongery,  and  he 
sells,  too.  Somebody  wants  these  goods,  and  he  gets  his  price. 
As  these  things  are  collected  as  were  the  boots,  the  vender  is 
happy  at  every  pennyworth  he  sells. 

Here  is  a  clothing  merchant  with  his  stock  laid  conveniently 
on  the  sidewalk.  It  is  a  motley  mass,  and  his  method  of  dis- 
posing of  it  is  precisely  the  same  as  that  of  the  second-hand 
clothing  dealer  the  world  over.  I  don't  know  as  these  dealers 
rise  to  the  sublime  height  of  the  'New  York  Chatham  street 


THE    CLOTHING-    DEALER. 


127 


Jew,  who  claimed  that  a  villainous  green  coat  was  made  for 
General  Grant,  but  that  he  wouldn't  have  it  because  the  velvet 
on  the  collar  was  too  fine  for  his  taste,  but  they  approach  it. 
He  has  everything  that  one  can  conceive  of.  There  are 
flunkeys'  uniforms,  sailors'  jackets,  worn-out  dress  coats  that 


"SHEAP  CLODINK!" 

once  figured  in  the  best  society,  but  they  decayed,  and  went 
down  and  down  through  all  the  grades  of  society,  till  they 
finally  landed  in  Petticoat  Lane,  where  they  will  be  sold  for  a 
shilling,  and  the  purchaser  will  tear  the  tails  off  as  useless 
encumbrances  that  give  no  warmth  and  are  simply  in  the  way, 
and  comfortable  jackets  will  be  made  of  them. 

Under  this  head  I  might  ring  in  Hamlet'' s  soliloquy  about 
the  dust  of  great  men  stopping  cracks,  and  preach  a  very 
pretty  sermon  on  the  mutability  of  human  affairs,  but  I  won't. 


128  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Petticoat  Lane  is  not  exactly  the  place  for  philosophizing,  nor 
will  it  be  for  me  till  I  get  its  smell  out  of  my  nostrils.  Yisit- 
ing  Petticoat  Lane  is  very  much  like  eating  onions  —  you  carry 
the  taste  with  you  a  long  time,  which  is  a  blessing  —  for  those 
who  like  onions.  The  onion  is  an  economical  vegetable  at  any 
price.  It  may  come  high  to  begin  with,  but  it  lasts  a  long 
time. 

I  saw  General's  uniforms,  American  sack-coats,  trowsers 
that  may  have  graced  the  legs  of  royalty,  and  a  great  many 
that  had  not,  there  not  being  many  of  the  royalty.  There 
were  French,  blouses,  police  uniforms,  Irish  knee-breeches, 
everything.  One  coat  I  saw  sold  for  a  penny,  the  vender 
originally  asking  two  shillings  for  it. 

'Next  to  this  merchant  was  a  man  who  had  an  assortment 
of  sewing  machines  —  "Wheeler  &  Wilson,  Wilcox  &  Gibbs,  the 
Domestic,  Singer  —  all  the  American  machines  were  repre- 
sented, and  he  sold  them,  too.  People  come  there  to  buy  these 
things.  They  went  as  low  as  three  dollars,  and  as  high  as  five. 
One  bloated  aristocrat,  who  was  particular  as  to  appearances, 
actually  paid  seven  dollars  for  a  Wheeler  &  Wilson,  and  was 
not  above  carrying  it  off  himself. 

In  Petticoat  Lane  they  don't  have  wagons  to  deliver  your 
purchases  as  they  do  in  Regent  street  and  elsewhere,  nor 
do  they  sell  on  time.  You  buy,  and  pay  for  what  you  buy, 
and  to  prevent  mistakes  you  pay  for  your  goods  just  before 
you  get  them.     It's  a  habit  they  have. 

The  furniture  stores  —  all  on  the  sidewalk  —  are  curiosities. 
It  would  delight  a  gatherer-up  of  unconsidered  trifles  to  see 
one  of  them.  I  did  not  notice  a  whole  piece  of  furniture  in 
the  lot.  There  was  either  a  leg  gone,  or  two  legs,  or  the  top, 
or  the  side,  something  must  be  gone.  But  the  dealer  didn't 
mind  that.  "  You  see,  ma  teer,  all  you  hef  to  do  ish  to  get 
dot  leg  put  on,  and  its  shoost  ash  goot  as  new,  efery  bit." 
Bureaus  with  missing  drawers,  tables  with  three  legs  where 
four  were  essential,  chairs  with  the  top,  bottom  and  legs  gone ; 
in  short,  everything  that  was  broken  and  condemned  as  useless 
by  everybody  finds  its  last  resting-place  here.  Surely  there 
can  be  no  lower  depth  for  the  disabled. 

As  I  gazed  in  wonder  upon  some  of  the  articles  I  saw,  and 


A    MOTLEY    MASS.  129 

noticed  how  little  of  the  original  article  could  be  sold,  I 
bethought  myself  of  the  cooper  who  was  brought  a  bung  hole, 
with  the  request  that  he  build  a  barrel  about  it. 

The  street  vendors  of  eatables  formed  no  small  portion  of 
the  traffic  that  was  going  on  incessantly.  You  can  get  a  slice 
of  roast  beef  with  greens  (greens  is  what  these  people  call 
cabbage,  and,  by  the  way,  they  call  a  lemonade  a  "  lemon 
squash  "),  for  a  penny,  and  you  shall  see  it  cut  from  the  joint, 
otherwise  you  wouldn't  know  what  it  was.  True  the  plate  on 
which  the  satisfying  food  was  placed  had  been  merely  dipped 
in  cold  water,  and  true  it  was  that  the  two  hundred  pound 
woman  who  served  it  had  never  washed  her  hands  since  the 
day  she  was  married,  but  that  did  not  matter.  The  dish  was 
taken  and  devoured,  the  ceremony  of  paying  before  getting  it 
being  religiously  observed.  There  were  shrimps,  and  snails, 
and  lettuce  salads,  and  moldy  fruit,  and  everything  else  that 
the  British  public  eats,  all  on  the  street,  which  is  convenient, 
to  say  the  least. 

Sharpers  were  not  wanting  to  complete  this  variegated 
scene.  The  thimble-rigger  was  there,  his  game  being  confined 
to  a  penny,  so  as  to  harmonize  with  the  general  cheapness  of 
the  locality,  and,  to  keep  it  in  perfect  accord,  his  little  portable 
table,  and  his  thimbles  were  second-hand.  There  were  street 
acrobats,  nigger  minstrels,  hand  organs,  hurdy-gurdys,  street 
singers,  and  the  inevitable  street  brass  band,  made  up  of  four 
sad-looking  men  who  appeared  as  though  there  was  nothing  in 
life  for  them,  and  that  they  were  playing  in  expiation  of  some 
great  crime,  and  were  compelled  'to  play  on  forever.  How 
these  people  live  I  never  could  make  out.  During  the  whole 
day  I  never  saw  a  penny  given  them,  except  one  which  one  of 
our  party  threw  them.  They  took  it  up  with  an  expression  of 
the  most  intense  surprise,  as  though  it  was  an  astounding  and 
unlookedfor  occurrence,  and  immediately  stopped  playing, 
and  made  for  the  nearest  cook  stand  and  invested  the  whole  of 
it  in  a  plate  of  beef  and  greens,  which  was  divided  among  the 
four.  I  was  about  to  throw  them  another  penny,  but  was 
checked  by  our  guide.  He  protested  against  pampering  them. 
I  understood  him.  The  American  Indian  will  consume  a 
month's  provisions  in  a  single  day's  feast,  and  starve  the  other 
9 


130  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

twenty-nine.  Had  I  ^iven  them  another  penny  they  would 
have  had  another  plate  of  beef  on  the  spot,  and  then  gone 
hungry  a  week.  As  we  intended  to  come  again  next  Sunday, 
for  their  own  good  I  reserved  the  penny  for  that  occasion. 

Understand  it  is  not  Jews  who  are  the  purchasers  of  these 
wrecks  of  goods,  these  reminiscences  of  furniture  and  the  like ; 
they  are  the  sellers.  The  purchasers  are  the  British  public 
proper,  who  come  here  for  bargains.  They  get  them — 
perhaps. 

The  question  is,  where  do  all  these  things  come  from  ?  If 
there  are  more  than  one  in  the  Jewish  family,  and  whether 
there  is  or  not  depends  upon  the  age,  for  they  marry  very 
young,  and  have  children  as  rapidly  as  possible,  all  but  one  of 
them  roam  through  the  country  incessantly,  buying,  bartering 
for  and  picking  up  all  the  stuff,  which,  after  bought  or  picked 
up,  is  brought  here  and  fixed  as  far  as  the  skill  and  ingenuity 
of  the  purchaser  and  the  rottenness  of  the  material  will 
permit.  Then  it  is  sold,  at  no  matter  what  price.  The  motto 
m  Petticoat  Lane  is,  "  no  reasonable  offer  refused." 

It  is  not,  however,  only  the  second-hand  that  Petticoat 
Lane  deals  in.  You  see  moving  among  the  crowd  here  and 
there  quite  another  class  of  Israelites  from  those  who  are 
vending  dilapidated  clothing  and  broken  furniture.  They 
are  well  dressed  men,  with  coats  buttoned  up  very  closely. 
Their  raven  locks  are  surmounted  with  tall  hats,  and  their 
boots  cleaned  as  carefully  as  any  swell's  in  London.  They  are 
all  distinctively  Hebrew,  there  being  no  exception  to  this  rule. 

Across  the  way  is  a  beer-shop,  kept  by  a  Hebrew,  the 
bar-maids  and  all  being  Hebrew.  On  the  one  side  of  the  bar 
is  a  small  dining  room ;  back  of  that  a  kitchen,  and  from  the 
bar-room  is  a  flight  of  stairs.  Follow  your  guide,  who  in  this 
instance  was  an  American  Hebrew,  and  you  find  yourself  in  a 
low  room  just  the  size  of  the  bar  below,  and  a  curious  scene 
presents  itself.  These  rooms,  and  there  are  scores  of  them  in 
Petticoat  Lane,  contain  on  an  average  any  number  of  millions 
of  pounds  that  you  choose  to  say.  I  could  say  that  there 
were  a  hundred  millions  of  wealth  in  each  one,  and  perhaps 
wouldn't  be  very  much  out  of  the  way,  but  as  I  desire  to  be 
accurate,  I  will  not.     If  there  is  anything  I  detest,  it  is  exag- 


DIAMONDS.  131 

geration.  I  hope  to  distinguish  myself  by  being  the  first 
tourist  who  adhered  strictly  to  the  nailed  truth. 

These  rooms  are  diamond  marts.  In  them  all  the  diamonds 
that  deck  out  royalty  and  the  wives  of  patent  medicine  men, 
gamblers,  negro  minstrels,  and  other  people  who  are  not  royal, 
are  first  handled.  To  these  dingy  dens  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  worst  quarter  of  the  worst  city  in  the  world,  comes  the 
diamond  merchant,  and  here  he  meets  the  broker  who  deals 
with  the  manufacturer  in  the  city.  Here  all  the  diamonds  of 
London  are  first  bought  and  sold. 

One  looks  at  it  with  amazement.  Enter  a  young  Jew  with 
the  preternaturally  sharp  features  that  distinguish  the  race. 
All  the  merchants,  and  there  may  be  a  dozen,  each  sitting  at 
his  little  table,  hail  him,  and  all  in  the  language  that  the  new 
comer  speaks  the  best.  The  Hebrew  speaks  all  languages,  and 
all  of  thiem  well.  (Facts  crowd  upon  me  so  fast  that  it  is 
diflB.cult  to  keep  to  my  subject.)  The  young  fellow  unbuttons 
his  coat,  and  then  the  top  buttons  of  his  vest,  and  takes  from 
an  inner  pocket  a  long  leather  pocket-book,  which  he  opens 
carefully.  There  are  disclosed  a  dozen  papers  folded  like  an 
apothecary's  package,  and  he  opens  them.  Your  eyes  dance  as 
you  see  the  contents.  Diamonds!  I  never  dreamed  there 
were  so  many  in  the  world.  Each  paper  contains  a  handful 
of  all  sizes  and  qualities,  cut  and  uncut,  of  all  colors  and 
shades  known  to  the  diamond,  and  the  ancient  Jews  at  the 
tables  take  these  papers  and  examine  critically  the  difi"erent 
sparklers,  going  over  the  lot  as  the  Western  farmer  would  his 
cattle.  With  a  little  steel  instrument  he  separates  this  one 
from  his  fellows  and  puts  it  under  a  glass,  and  screws  his  eye 
into  the  stone,  and  then  little  tiny  scales,  which  would  turn 
under  the  weight  of  a  sunbeam,  are  brought  into  requisition, 
and  then  would  come  more  chaffering  and  bargaining  than 
would  suffice  to  buy  and  sell  an  empire. 

This  3^oung  fellow  does  not  own  these  precious  stones.  He 
is  a  broker.  The  diamond  is  first  brought  to  light  in  Brazil, 
India,  or  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  From  the  original  producer 
it  passes  into  the  hands  of  the  resident  buyer,  who  consigns  it 
to  the  broker  to  sell,  and  he  does  it  on  commission  the  same  as 


132  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

t 

the  elevator  men  handle  wheat.  The  buyer  in  Petticoat  Lane 
either  outs  and  sets  it  himself,  or  re-sells  it  to  the  fashionable 
jeweler,  as  he  can  make  the  most  profit.  Trust  them  for 
doing  that.  It  is  something  the  London  Hebrew  understands 
long  before  he  cuts  his  teeth. 

But  is  is  not  alone  diamonds  you  find  in  these  rooms.  On 
the  various  tables  may  be  seen  jewelry  of  every  possible 
description,  and  all  sorts  of  goods,  from  a  tooth-pick  up. 
You  can  buy  a  w^atch  or  a  jack-knife,  a  button-hook  or  a 
diamond  bracelet.  Especially  is  the  variety  of  curious  old 
jewelry  very  extensive.  You  find  there  rings  and  brooches  set 
with  all  sorts  of  stones,  of  every  period  in  the  world's  history, 
which  makes  it  the  resort  of  the  wealthy  collectors  of  the 
ancient  and  curious.  Here  is  a  brooch,  said  to  have  been 
worn  by  Queen  Anne,  and  another  by  one  of  the  mistresses 
of  Louis  XYIIL,  of  France.  The  seller  says  it  was,  and  if  he 
happens  to  be  mistaken,  what  difference  does  it  make  so  that 
you  believe  it  ?  It  is  just  as  good  to  you  as  though  the  history 
was  accurate.  One  should  not  be  particular  in  such  matters, 
though  I  saw  enough  brooches  that  were  once  the  property  of 
an  English  Queen  to  have  set  up  a  very  large  jewelry  store, 
and  were  they  all  genuine  it  explains  the  high  taxes  in 
England,  and  justifies  all  the  rebellions  the  country  has 
suffered.  But  it  is  all  well  enough.  The  goods  are  actually 
quaint  and  beautiful.  It  is  darkly  hinted  that  these  Jews 
have  factories  where  jewelry  once  worn  by  royalty  is  manu- 
factured by  the  bushel,  and  I  should  not  wonder  thereat. 
For,  you  see,  a  brooch  of  modern  style,  worth  say  fifty 
pounds,  is  worth  one  hundred  pounds  if  it  were  once  Queen 
Anne's.  "Dose  goots,  ma  tear  sir,  vat  ish  anshent,  and  hef 
historical  associations,  are  wort  any  money.  At  one  hundred 
pounts  it  ish  a  bargain." 

As  the  price  doubles  because  of  historical  features  it  pays 
very  nicely  to  manufacture  the  old  styles,  and  tarnish  the  gold, 
and  make  antiques.  But  possibly  this  is  a  weak  invention  of 
the  Gentiles  who  do  not  deal  in  antiques. 

One  would  suppose  that  it  would  be  rather  hazardous  to 
carry  about  so  much  w^ealth  in  a  paper.     What  is  to  prevent 


THE    CONFIDING    ISRAELITE. 


133 


the  Jew  at  the  table  who  has  a  paper  before  him  containing, 

say,  two  hundred  diamonds,  from  secreting  one  or  two  ?     The 

broker  hands  a  paper 

to  one,  and  another  to 

another,   and  divides 

his  time  between  them, 

and  to  take  a  stone 

would  be  as  easy  as 

lying. 

Possibly  it  would  be 
hazardous  among  Gen- 
tiles, but  not  so  among 
these  Jews.  There  is 
an  unwritten  code 
among  them  which 
makes  the  property  as 
safe  in  their  hands  as 
though  one  diamond 
were  shown  at  a  time. 
There  is  absolute 
honor  among  them, 
which  was  never  yet 
known  to  be  tarnished. 
It  is  absolute  and  per- 
fect. 

One  venerable  Jew 
W2CS  very  anxious  to 
sell  me  a  ring,  the 
price  of  which  he  fixed 
at  one  hundred  and 
twenty  dollars,  "and 
no  abatement."  (When 
a  Jew  diamond  mer- 
chant says  "  no  abatement,"  that  settles  it.     There  is  none. 

"  Dake  dot  ring,  put  him  in  your  bocket,  go  to  any  schew- 
eler  in  Rechent  street,  and  oof  you  can  get  him  vor  dwice  de 
monish  I  will  give  him  to  vou." 

"What!  "was   my  reply,  "do   you   say  that   I,  a   perfect 


DAKE  DOT  RING. 


134 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


stranger  to  you,  may  carry  off  a  ring  worth  forty  pounds? 
Suppose  I  shouldn't  come  back  with  it?" 

"  Ach,  ma  tear  sir,  Philip  (my  American  friend)  v^ouldn't 
pring  nobody  here  vot  vould  do  such  a  ting.  Dake  der  ring, 
ma  tear  sir,  and  see  about  him.     It  ish  a  bargain." 

Philip  or  any  one  of  the  guild  would  be  allowed  to  carry 
away  a  king's  ransom. 

Would,  oh  would,  that  the  other  people  of  the  world  were 
equally  honest  and  upright.  Still,  I  wouldn't  advise  any  one 
to  depend  upon  their  word  in  a  purchase.  They  have  two 
kinds  of  morality.  A  trade  with  them  is  a  battle  royal,  m 
which  each  tries  to  get  the  better  of  the  other,  but  the  word 
once  passed  is  never  broken. 

The  merchant  sits  all  day  at  his  table,  his  meals,  always  a 
cut  of  beef  and  greens,  with  a  pewter  of  bitter  beer,  being 
brought  to  him  from  the  kitchen  below.  He  sits  and  eats, 
never  permitting,  however,  his  eating  and  drinking  to  inter- 
fere with  his  business.  He  would  put  down  his  pot  of  beer  to 
continue  a  trade  any  time,  something  I  know  a  great  many 
Americans  would  not  do. 

Petticoat  Lane  is  one  of  the  curiosities  of  London,  and  the 
da}^  was  well  spent.  It  is  a  world  by  itself  —  a  foreign  nation 
preserving  its  religion  and  customs  intact,  injected  into  the 
verv  heart  of  London. 


A  LANE  IN  CAMBERWELL. 


(135) 


(136) 


CHxiPTEE  X. 


THE   TOWER. 


To  visit  the  Tower  is  to  draw  aside  the  curtain  that  sepa- 
rates the  past  from  the  present.  It  is  to  go  back  a  thousand 
years,  and  commune  with  those  who  have  long  ages  been  dust, 
and  of  whom  only  a  memory  remains.  Once  in  the  Tower, 
one  seems  to  be  with  them,  to  see  them,  and  to  feel  their  influ- 
ence as  though  they  were  living,  moving  beings,  and  not  histo- 
rical ghosts. 

The  vast  structure,  now  in  the  heart  of  the  great  city, 
though  once  on  its  borders,  is  as  much  out  of  place  in  this  day 
and  age  of  the  world,  as  a  soldier  would  be  in  any  of  the  suits 
of  armor  within  its  walls.  It  is  war  in  the  midst  of  peace,  it 
is  a  fortress  surrounded  by  traffic,  it  is  lawless  force  against 
law,  it  is  simply  an  incongruity,  and  only  valuable  and  inter- 
esting as  showing  what  Avas,  in  comparison  with  Avhat  is. 

It  was  built  originally  as  a  stronghold,  to  keep  the  fiery 
and  oft-times  rebellious  citizens  of  London  in  check,  and  was 
afterward  occupied  alternately,  or  at  the  same  time,  as  a  prison 
or  palace.  Many  a  terrible  drama  has  been  enacted  within 
the  ancient  walls,  many  a  broken  heart  has  wasted  away 
within  the  solid  stone  in  its  gloomy  dungeons,  and  many  a 
noble  head  has  parted  company  with  its  body,  under  its  cold 
shadow,  and  there  is  any  quantity  of  "  human  interest,"  as  the 
dramatists  say,  connected  with  it.  There  is  a  strong  flavor  of 
murder  all  through  it,  there  is  cruelty  written  upon  every 
stone,  and  treachery  and  death  on  every  inch  of  the  cold, 
paved  floors. 

If  a  king  desired  to  put  quietly  out  of  the  way  a  dangerous 
rival,  or  if  he  lusted  after  a  woman,  or  wanted  anything  that 
was  especially  unlawful  and  damnable,  he  could  not  have  been 

(137) 


138  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

better  fixed  for  the  business  than  with  this  fortress,  provided 
he  had  a  sufficient  number  of  servitors  to  do  his  bidding  faith- 
fully. And  that  sort  of  material  was  very  plenty,  in  those 
days,  for  kings  who  had  the  means  of  rewarding  them.  The 
devil  himself  could  not  have  fitted  up  a  better  arrangement  if 
he  had  given  his  whole  mind  to  the  matter,  and  his  ability  in 
this  direction  is  unquestioned. 

There  are  dungeons  where  an  unfortunate's  cries  could 
never  be  heard ;  there  are  cells  so  strong  that  escape  was 
simply  impossible,  even  without  the  watchful  care  of  the 
soldiery  w^ith  which  it  was  filled,  and  in  short  over  each  of  its 
gates  might  well  be  written,  "  Who  enters  here  leaves  hope 
behind."  It  is  a  wonderful  but  an  intensely  disagreeable 
place. 

These  old  places  are  not  the  most  cheerful  in  the  world, 
but  still  I  like  them.  A  ride  behind  a  tandem  team  through 
the  green  lanes  of  Hampstead,  with  the  beautiful  hedges  on 
either  hand,  and  the  quaint  old  houses  with  their  steep  red- 
tiled  roofs,  and  their  low  rooms  and  curious  little  windows 
that  look  more  like  eyes  than  windows,  the  broad  fields,  grass 
green,  (grass  is  greener  in  England  than  America,)  with  the 
beautiful  sleek  cattle  feeding  peacefully,  is  a  more  pleasant 
thing,  for  it  is  a  singular  as  Avell  as  delightful  mixture  of 
to-day  and  yesterday.  The  fields  and  cattle  are  of  to-day, 
the  houses  are  of  a  long  ago  yesterday,  but  there  is  added 
what  the  Tower  has  not,  the  sun,  which  is  of  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  to-morrow,  shining  down,  and  lighting  up  the 
quiet  glories  that  surround  you.  This  is  not  depressing.  The 
houses  fit  the  atmosphere  —  m  good  sooth  I  cannot  imagine 
such  houses  in  any  other  atmosphere,  and  certainly  the  atmos- 
phere would  not  be  complete  without  the  houses.  Everything 
adapts  itself  to  everything  else.  A  pale  face  would  be  as 
much  out  of  place  in  an  American  rum  shop  as  a  strawberry 
patch  in  an  alkaline  desert.  Rum  requires  something  lurid  — 
the  quiet,  soft,  hazy  English  atmosphere  exactly  fits  the  soft 
brown  and  the  subdued  red  that  almost  narrowly  escapes  being 
a  brown  of  the  houses. 

But  in  the  Tower  you  have  nothing  that  is  soft,  nothing 
that  is  pleasant,  nothing  one  would  like  to  have  about  him. 


THE    CHEEKFULIIESS    OF    THE    TOWER.  139 

The  Tower  is  a  good  thing  for  a  world  to  see,  so  that  it  can 
know  what  to  avoid. 

Two  teachers  of  elocution  were  in  great  rivalry.  One  gave 
an  exhibition  with  his  pupils. 

"Where  are  your  classes  to-day?"  asked  a  friend  of  the 
other  one. 

"  Gone  to  Mr.  Blank's  exhibition." 

"  Do  you  permit  your  pupils  to  attend  your  rival's  exhibi- 
tion?" 

"  Certainly.     I  want  them  to  learn  what  to  avoid." 

No  light  ever  penetrates  its  gloomy  walls.  There  are  but 
two  colors  —  the  blackened  wood  painted  by  time,  and  the 
cold  gray  of  the  stones.  All  the  color  indicates  cruelty  —  the 
very  stones  typify  the  character  of  the  men  who  put  them 
together,  and  their  successors  who  used  them.  It  is  the 
cruelest  appearing  place  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  now  that  the 
French  Bastile  is  gone,  and  I  doubt  if  a  Frenchman  could 
possibly  construct  a  place  so  grimly  severe,  so  unutterably 
merciless  as  the  Tower.  He  would  have  had  some  fancy  about 
it  —  it  would  have  been  lighted  up  somehow. 

The  Tower  is  so  severe  that  a  picture  of  a  beheading,  or  of 
a  torture,  would  be  cheerful  by  contrast  and  improve  it. 

I  would  suggest  now,  that  to  enliven  the  old  place  a  bit, 
and  save  a  man  from  giving  way  too  much  to  the  depression 
that  governs  the  spot,  that  a  fresco  be  painted  representing 
the  burning  of  John  Kogers  at  the  stake,  or  the  disemboweling 
of  the  Waldenses,  or  some  cheerful  historical  picture  of  that 
kind.  Should  the  artist  select  pictures  from  Fox's  Book  of 
Martyrs,  that  one  where  the  soldiers  are  crowding  people  off  a 
precipice  so  that  they  fall  upon  iron  spikes  about  four  feet 
long,  would  impart  a  cheerful  tone  to  the  surroundings  in  the 
Tower  and  make  one  feel  more  kindly  toward  his  race. 

As  it  is,  he  who  enters  and  stays  awhile  becomes  a  convert 
to  the  doctrine  of  Total  Depravity.  He  gets  blood-thirsty 
himself,  and  feels  like  snatching  up  some  one  of  the  million 
weapons  that  are  stored  there  and  killing  somebody.  The 
articles  preserved  with  so  much  care  are  all  suggestive  of 
blood.  It  is  a  Moloch  of  a  place ;  but  one  must  see  it,  all  the 
same. 


140 


NASBY    m    EXILE. 


The  most  cheerful  place  in  the  great  structure  is  the  jewel 
room,  or  tower,  as  it  is  called.  It  isn't  very  much  of  a  room, 
but  there  is  a  great  deal  in  it  which  is  of  interest.  Here  are 
kept  the  regalia  appertaining  to  the  throne.  In  glass  cases 
very  carefully  guarded  are  all  the  crowns  of  the  royal  family, 


THE   JEWEL   TOWER. 

and  the  scepters  and  things  which  they  display  on  state  occar 
sions,  and  a  rare  lot  they  are. 

The  prevailing  impression  among  those  not  used  to  royalty 
is  that  the  King  and  Queen  and  the  rest  of  their  ^' royal 
nibses,"  as  an  American  would  irrevelantly  say,  go  about 
dressed  in  velvet  robes,  covered  with  jewels,  with  crowms  upon 
their  heads ;  that  when  the  Queen  goes  to  bed  at  night  she 
removes  the  crown,  or  a  dozen  maids  of  honor  do  it  for  her, 
and  that  she  resumes  it  the  first  thmg  in  the  morning,  before 
she  comes  down  to  breakfast.  A  moment's  reflection  will 
show  any  one  the  impossibility  of  anything  of  the  kind.  A 
crown  would  be  no  protection  for  the  head,  and  velvet  robes 
would  be  exceedingly  warm  in  summer,  and  not  warm  enough 
in  winter ;  and  besides  were  the  Queen  to  wear  a  crown  with 


THE    KOYAL    JEWELS.  141 

some  millions  of  dollars'  worth  of  precious  stones  in  it,  some 
enterprising  footpad  would  have  it  in  no  time,  and  then  what 
would  she  do  ? 

For  these  reasons,  which  ought  to  be  satisfactory  to  any 
reflective  mind,  the  crowns  and  articles  of  like  nature  are  kept 
in  the  tower,  and  are  only  worn  on  state  occasions,  when  the 
public  want  a  free  show. 

At  all  other  times  the  Queen  dresses  like  any  other  lady, 
with  a  regular  dress,  and  bustles,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
and  a  bonnet,  and  she  dresses  frightfully  plain,  so  all  the  mil- 
liners and  modistes  say,  too  plain  for  their  trade ;  for  Victoria, 
to  a  certain  extent,  sets  the  fashion,  which  the  court  follows. 

But  in  these  cases  you  shall  see  the  Queen's  crown,  a  cap 
of  purple  velvet  enclosed  in  hoops  of  silver,  surmounted  by  a 
ball  and  cross,  and  glittering  with  actual  diamonds.  In  the 
center  is  an  immense  sapphire,  and  in  front  is  a  famous  heart- 
shaped  ruby,  said  to  have  been  worn  by  the  Black  Prince.  I 
don't  know  the  value  of  this  article,  or  where  he  stole  it,  but  if 
Victoria  gets  hard-up  and  wants  to  raise  money,  I  presume  the 
Jews  in  Petticoat  Lane  would  advance  a  million  or  two  on  it, 
and  take  their  chances.  Queens  have  done  this  before  now, 
and  all  the  crown  jewels  in  Europe  have  been  in  the  hands  of 
the  Israelites  at  different  times;  but  I  rather  think  Victoria 
will  worry  through.  She  has  an  income  of  many  thousands  of 
pounds  a  year,  and  is  very  economical.  If  I  remember  aright, 
she  sent  the  starving  Irish  a  thousand  pounds,  which  was 
about  her  income  for  an  hour.  And  then  an  admiring  Parlia- 
ment, to  make  it  good  to  her,  voted  her  thirty  thousand  pounds 
sterling,  which  the  people  accepted  without  a  murmur.  She 
finds  profit  in  liberality. 

Then  there  is  St.  Edward's  Crown,  the  Prince  of  Wales's, 
the  ancient  Queen's  Crown,  the  Queen's  Diadem,  that  of  Charles 
the  Second,  and  a  dozen  or  two  others,  with  scepters  and  rods, 
and  all  sorts  of  things  which  are  carried  before,  or  behind,  or 
on  one  side  or  the  other,  of  Kings  and  Queens,  on  occasions  of 
great  solemnity,  when  the  people  are  to  be  impressed  with  a 
sense  of  the  importance  of  these  individuals  to  the  world  at 
large.  The  famous  Koihnoor,  stolen  from  an  East  India 
Prince,  some  years  since,  is  there  —  in  glass,  which  is  a  swindle. 


142 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


AVe  wanted,  and  expected,  when  we  paid  our  sixpence,  to  see 
the  genuine  article,  not  a  base  imitation.  It  is  as  it  is  at  side- 
shows at  a  circus,  you  are  allured  inside  by  a  picture  of  a  vast 
giraffe,  nipping  boughs  from  trees,  and  when  you  have  paid 
and  are  in,  you  are  shown  a  stuffed  giraffe,  who  can  no  more 


SIR  MAGNUS'   MEN. 


eat  boughs  from  tall  trees  than  he  could  preach  a  funeral  ser- 
mon. Possibly  we  should  have  demanded  our  money  back, 
but  we  didn't. 

From  the  jewel  room  you  pass  on  to  an  infinity  of  towers, 
all  through  long  halls,  how  long  I  can't  say,  filled  with  all 
sorts  of  armor  and  weapons.     Horses  are  set  up  and  figures 


THE    HORSE    AHMORY.  143 

placed  upon  them,  dressed  in  the  identical  armor  worn  by  the 
old  kings  and  nobles,  who,  in  their  day,  rode  about  the  country 
clad  in  iron  fish  scales,  with  a  half  ton  of  iron,  more  or  less, 
on  their  heads,  engaged  in  the  (to  them)  delightful  occupation 
of  burning  each  other's  castles  and  killing  the  occupants.  They 
did  not  require  a  "cause,"  or  anything  of  the  sort.  If  Sir 
Hugh  Bloody- bones  wanted  the  wife  or  daughter  of  Sir  Mag- 
nus Blunderbore,  he  simply  donned  his  iron,  picked  up  his 
lance,  called  together  the  inferior  cut-throats  who  followed 
and  lived  upon  him,  and  went  for  it.  Sir  Magnus,  if  not  sur- 
prised and  murdered  in  cold  blood,  and  he  was  generally  not, 
for  those  old  ruffians  slept  upon  their  arms,  harried  the  country 
for  supplies,  shut  the  clumsy  gates  of  his  castle,  and  stood  the 
siege.  If  the  castle  was  carried,  all  within  were  put  to  death, 
except  such  of  Sir  Magnus'  cut-throats  who  were  willing  to 
join  Sir  Hugh,  the  women  were  carried  off,  and  so  on.  The 
survivors  were  willing,  always,  to  join  the  victor.  The  suc- 
cessful Knight  would  say,  "Kow  look  here,  you  fellows.  Sir 
Magnus  is  dead.  I  slew  him,  and  you  can't  get  provisions 
from  him  any  more,  while  with  me  there  will  always  be  plenty 
of  prog.  I  shall  keep  you  busy,  for  there  are  other  castles  to 
storm,  and  I  am  not  very  particular  with  my  men." 

And  they  would  all  "take  service,"  as  they  called  it,  with 
the  successful  robber,  and  go  right  on  as  usual.  They  would 
take  anything. 

It  was  a  cheerful  life  these  ancient  murderers  lived,  though 
the  people  wh.o  supported  them  didn't  find  it  so  pleasant. 

The  Horse  Armory,  so  called  because  the  figures  in  it  are 
mostly  equestrian,  is  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  length  by 
thirty-four  in  width.  There  sits  a  Knight  of  the  time  of  Henry 
yi.,  in  complete  armor,  lance  and  all,  just  as  he  appeared  when 
he  started  out  to  kill  somebody  and  steal  his  effects.  The 
armor,  understand,  is  not  a  fac-simUe,  it  is  the  genuine  thing, 
actually  worn  by  the  marauder  of  that  time.  Then  come 
Knights  of  the  time  of  Edward  III.  and  Edward  lY.,  both  on 
their  horses  and  armored  from  top  to  bottom.  How  any  man 
could  carry  such  a  load  of  iron  and  sit  upon  a  horse,  and  how 
any  horse  could  carry  such  a  mass  of  iron,  with  his  own,  for 
the    horses   wei^e   armored    also,   passes    my   comprehension. 


144 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


Imagine  a  man  in  July,  with  the  thermometer  at  ninety-five 
in  the  shade,  with  a  steel  pot  on  his  head,  covering  his  face 
entirely,  with  little  holes  to  admit  air,  with  a  breast-plate  of 
boiler-iron,  and  a  similar  one  on  his  back,  Avitli  his  arms  and 
hands  guarded  with  iron,  and  his  legs  and  feet  likewise,  with 
swords  and  battle-axes,  and  daggers  hung  to  him,  and  a  lance 


HORSE  ARMORY. 


fourteen  feet  in  length,  to  handle,  doing  battle.  Yet  they  wore 
all  this,  and  in  Palestine,  and  in  every  other  hot  country  in  the 
Avorld. 

Woe  to  the  Knight  who  was  unhorsed  with  all  this  pot- 
metal  on  him.  He  couldn't  rise  under  the  load,  and  the  other 
one  could  prod  him  to  death  at  his  leisure,  and  enjoy  himself 
at  it  as  long  as  he  pleased. 


BLUFF    KING    HAREY. 


145 


Next  to  this  is  the  figure  of  that  wonderful  old  Mormon, 
Henry  YIII.  The  armor  on  this  figure  is  the  most  curious 
and  valuable  in  the  collection.  It  was  presented  to  him  on 
the  occasion  of  his  marriage  to  Catherine,  his  ISTo.  — ,  — I 
forget  what  her  number  was  —  and  he  wore  it  at  many  a  tour- 
nament. This  King,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  a  way  of 
getting  rid  of 
wives  that  was  far 
superior  to  I  n  d  i  - 
ana  divorce  courts. 
Whenever  he  saw 
a  woman  that  he 
thought  he  want- 
ed, and  he  had  an 
eye  for  women,  he 
merely  accused  his 
wife  of  being  un- 
faithful  to  him, 
and  had  a  court 
which  a  1  w  ays 
brought  her  in 
guilty,  and  her 
head  was  chopped 
off  without  cere- 
mony, and  he  mar- 
ried his  new  flame, 
only  to  accuse  her 
and  bring  her  be- 
fore the  court  and  st.  john's  chapel. 
chop  her  head  off 

in  her  turn.  He  finished  eight  in  this  way.  It  was  the  Pope's 
opposition  to  one  of  these  little  arrangements  that  brought 
about  the  divorce  of  England  from  the  Church  of  Rome,  and 
was  the  beginning  of  the  Protestant  movement.  But  for 
Henry's  terrible  hking  for  women  and  his  peremptory  and 
decisive  way  of  divorcing  wives,  I  probably  to-day  should 
have  been  a  Catholic !  What  great  events  spring  from  trifling 
causes. 

Ah  the  way  down  the  long  hafl  are  equestrian  figures,  all 

10 


146 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


anned  in  the  identical  armor  worn  by  the  men  whose  names 
they  bear,  and  between  the  figures  are  the  arms  of  the 
various  periods  of  Enghsh  history  since  men  took  to  kilhng 

each  other  as  a 
trade.  In  tliis 
and  adj  oin- 
ing  halls  are 
grouped  very 
artistically  the 
arms  of  every 
country  of  the 
globe,  and  of 
all  ages  and 
times.  There 
are  guns  of 
every  possible 
kind,  most  of 
them  of  very 
rare  workman- 
ship, for  the 
mechanics  o  f 
those  old  days 
put  more  work 
upon  arms 
than  upon  any- 
thing else,  and  swords  and  daggers,  and  battle-axes,  and  various 
devices  for  knocking  out  brains. 

By  the  way,  the  revolver  is  popularly  supposed  to  be  an 
American  invention,  but  it  is  not.  There  are  a  score  of  revol- 
vers here  that  were  made  almost  as  soon  as  gunpowder  was 
invented  and  came  into  use.  The  very  one  from  which  Colonel 
Colt  got  the  idea  of  a  repeating  arm  is  here,  and  it  is  identical 
in  construction  with  that  which  now  graces  the  thighs  of  so 
many  Americans,  and  which  has  done  so  much  for  the  glory  of 
our  happy  country.  They  were  not  very  much  used,  however, 
as,  owing  to  the  imperfect  means  of  firing  the  loads,  all  the 
barrels  were  liable  to  go  off  at  once,  invariably  killing  the 
shooter  mthout  materially  damaging  the  shootee.  The  inven- 
tion of  the  percussion  cap  made  the  revolver  practicable,  and 


ST.   THOMAS  S  TOWER. 


THE    BLOODY    STRUCTURE. 


147 


Colonel  Colt's  widow  is  living  in  great  luxury  upon  an  idea 
taken  by  her  husband  from  the  Tower  of  London,  the  work  of 
some  humble 
mechanic  hun- 
dreds of  years 
ago.  I  doubt 
not  that  if  she 
could  find  the 
heirs  of  that 
mechanic  she 
would  pension 
them.  But  they 
were  doubtless 
all  killed  in  the 
wars  of  the 
day,  and  so  it 
probably  would 
not  be  worth 
her  while  to 
try  to  seek 
them  out. 

To  enmnerate 
everythingthat 

is  curious  in  the  way  of  arms  and  armor  in  this  hall  would  be 
to  make  a  catalogue.  It  takes  more  than  a  day  to  merely  see 
(not  study)  this  collection,  and  then  one  has  his  mind  overloaded. 
The  different  buildings  that  make  up  what  is  known  collec- 
tively as  the  Tower,  have  all  histories,  and  all  bloody  ones. 
There  is  nothing  but  blood  connected  Avith  it.  In  the  White 
Tower,  Sir  Walter  Kaleigh  was  confined,  and  near  his  den  is 
that  once  occupied  by  Rudstone,  Culpepper,  and  Sir  Thomas 
Wyat,  who  were  aU.  beheaded  on  Tower  HiU.  The  Council 
Room  was  used  by  the  Kings  when  they  wanted  to  give  some 
sort  of  show  of  law  for  a  murder,  and  in  this  the  Council  sat 
when  Richard  III.  ordered  Lord  Hastings  to  instant  execution. 
The  Bloody  Tower  (that  would  be  the  proper  name  for  all 
of  them)  was  where  Richard  III.  was  supposed  to  have  mur- 
dered the  two  children  of  Edward  lY.,  his  brother,  on  which 
event  Shakespeare  founded  his  play  of  that  name.     Some  Eng- 


GENERAL  VIEW  OF  THE  TOWER. 


148 


NASBY    IX    EXILE.    . 


lish  historians  have  endeavored  to  show  that  Eichard  was  no 
such  a  man  as  Shakespeare  represents.  Instead  of  being  a 
hump  backed,  distorted  villain,  such  as  we  see  upon  the  stage, 

^  theyinsist 

that  he  was 
the  handsom- 
est man  of  his 
time ;  that  he 
did  not  even 
try  to  murder 
the  Princes, 
and,  m o r e - 
over,  that  he 
was  one  of 
the  most  hu- 
maney  pohtic 
Kings  Eng- 
land ever  had, 
and  during  his 
short  reign  of 
nine  months, 
instituted  ma- 
terial reforms, 
and  did  more 

THE  BLOODY  TOWER.  tO    prOmote 

the  welfare 
of  England  than  any  King  who  had  preceded  or  followed  him. 
Also,  they  deny  the  story  of  his  drowning  his  brother  Clarence 
in  a  butt  of  Malmsey  wine,  and  hkewise  his  murder  of  King 
Henry. 

Probably  these  historians  are  right.  Since  it  has  been  shown 
that  General  Jackson  did  not  fight  his  men  behind  a  breast- 
work of  cotton  bales,  a  delusion  that  grew  up  with  me,  and 
since  it  has  been  demonstrated  that  there  is  no  maelstrom  on 
the  coast  of  l^orway,  that  takes  down  ships  and  whales  into 
its  terrible  vortex,  as  shown  in  the  ancient  geographies  of 
thirty  years  ago,  I  have  lost  faith  in  everything.  When  I 
want  romance  I  read  history,  and  when  I  hunger  for  history  I 
read  novels.     But  whether  he  was   a   good   man   or   a   bad, 


THE    M  ecu- ABUSED    KING    RICH  ART). 


149 


Shakespeare  has  fixed  his  flint  for  all  time.  The  essayist  may 
essay,  and  facts  may  be  piled  up  mountain  high  in  his  favor, 
but  Eichard  will  always  appear  to  us  as  Shakespeare  painted 
him,  a  hump-backed,  withered-legged  man  with  a  villainous 


THE  PRESUMED  DROWNING  OF  CLARENCE  IN  A  BUTT  OF  WINE. 

face,  killing  Princes,  stabbing  Kings  and  drowning  brothers  in 
wine.  Still,  I  don't  suppose  Eichard  cares  now  what  is  said  of 
him.  If  he  killed  the  Princes,  they,  dying  young  and  before 
they  could  be  Kings,  and  consequently  comparatively  pure,  he 


150 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


will  never  meet  them.  If  he  did  not,  and  is  with  them,  they 
have  had  ample  time  to  arrange  their  little  differences.  The 
opinion  of  the  world  makes  little  difference  to  Eichard,  where- 
ever  he  is.     Nevertheless,  as  I  wish   to   stand  well  with  the 

Avor  Id  hereafter. 


I  shall  try  not 
to  get  the  ill-will 
of  the  poets 
whose  w  o  r  k  s 
are  likely  to  live. 
Eichard's  repu- 
tation should  be 
a  Avarning. 

The  bloody 
record  contin 
ues.  Devereux 
.•'  Tower  is  where 
the  brilliant  Es- 
sex was  confined 


tiU  he  Avas 


pri- 


THE  BYWARD   TOWER. 

(From  the  East.) 


vately  behead 
ed."  The  By- 
Avard  Tower  is 
Avhere  Duke 
Clarence  is 
saidto  have 
been  drowned 

in  the  wine,  Avhich  was  a  great  Avaste  of  wine,  though  it  AA^as  a 
delicate  compliment  to  the  Duke,  Avho  Avas  fond  of  it.  It  was 
probably  distributed  among  the  soldiers  Avho  did  the  job.  In 
the  Brick  Tower  Lady  Jane  Grey  was  immured,  and  in  the 
Martin  ToAver  Anne  Boleyn,  one  of  Henry  YIII.'s  Avives,  AA^as 
confined,  till  she  Avas  beheaded,  as  well  as  ''several  unhappy 
gentlemen  "  who  Avere  foolish  enough  to  stand  up  for  her,  Avho 
also  had  their  heads  chopped  off.  The  Avord  "  unhappy  "  is  not 
misused  in  their  case.  In  the  Salt  ToAver  is  shoAvn  an  inscrip- 
tion made  by  a  gentleman  Avho  Avas  accused  of  using  enchant- 
ments "to  the  hurt  of  Sir  W.  St.  LoAve  and  my  ladye,"  who 
also  found  himself  short  a  head  one  fine  morning.     It  was  a 


A   CHAPTER    OF   MURDERS. 


151 


comfortable  time  to  live  when  "Sir  "W".  St.  Lowe,"  a  court 
favorite,  could  accuse  a  man  he  owed  money  to  of  being  a 
wizard,  and  then  ordering  him  beheaded.  It  was  easier  to  pay 
debts  in  those  days  than  going  through  bankruptcy  is  now. 

There  were  so  many  murders  committed  in  the  Beauchamp 
Tower  that  in  the  guide  books  it  is  counted  worthy  of  a  chap- 
ter by  itself,  not 
only  because  of 
the  number,  but 
because  of  the 
pecuharly  atro- 
cious quality  of 
them.  The  other 
murderers  Avere 
mere  apprentices 
at  the  business 
compared  with 
those  who  had 
the  Beauchamp 
tower  in  charge. 
They  were  art- 
ists, and  knew 
all  about  it. 
They  gave  their 
whole  mind  to 
it.  Marmaduke 
Neville  with 
fifty  others  who 

believed  in  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  were  confined  in  this  tower, 
and  they  were  all  beheaded  in  one  day.  Likewise  Mr.  William 
Tyrrell,  who  had  some  differences  with  the  government ;  then 
the  Earl  Arundel  was  beheaded  from  this  interesting  old 
slaughter  house  for  aspiring  to  the  hand  of  Mary  Queen  of 
Scots.  It  appears  that  a  man  couldn't  safely  make  love  in 
those  days.  But  as  he  was  tried  for  his  reUgion — not  for  love 
— he  was  not  beheaded,  but  was  mercifuUy  permitted  to 
"languish  in  prison"  tiU  he  died.  It  is  probable  that  his 
jailors  did  not  feed  him  on  porter-house  steaks. 

The  Earl  of  Warwick  and  the  three  brothers  Dudley  were 


THE  BEAUCHAMP  TOWER. 


152 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


here.  The  Duke,  the  eldest  of  the  three,  was  beheaded,  and 
the  others  mercifully  starved  to  death.  A  gentleman  named 
Gyfford  was  put  to  the  rack  in  the  Tower,  and  finally  con- 
senting to  answer  the  questions  put  to  hhn — your  rack  was  a 
rare  persuader — was  probably  dismissed.  But  doubtless  the 
headsman  got  him.  Dr.  Stohr,  who  refused  to  deny  his  rehgion 
—  he  was  a  Cathohc  —  was  imprisoned  here,  and  was  released 
only  to  suffer  a  cruel  death  at  Tyburn.     Being  a  Catholic,  and 


THE  OVERWORKED  HEADSMAN— FIFTY  IN  ONE  DAY. 


murdered  by  Protestants, we  may  draw  from  his  history  the  useful 
lesson  that  persecution  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  confined  to 
the  Catholic  church,  as  is  popularly  supposed.  The  Protestants, 
when  in  power,  knew  the  uses  of  the  rack,  and  thumbscrew, 
and  stake,  just  as  well  as  the  Cathohcs,  and  they  were  just  as 
handy  with  them. 


INTERESTING   RELICS. 


153 


The  Brothers  Poole  wanted  Mary  to  be  the  Queen,  and  they 
went  the  long  road  from  here. 

But  the  list  is  too  long  for  these  pages. 

That  you  may  be  perfectly  sure  of  the  accuracy  of  these 
things,  the  identical  headsman's  block  is  carefully  preserved, 
with  the  ax  he  used  and  the  mask  he  wore  when  engaged  in  his 
dehghtful  duty.  The  ax  is  shaped  very  like  a  butcher's  cleaver, 
and  the  mask  is  about  the  most  fiendish  face  that  a  devCish 
ingenuity  could  devise.  Ugly  and  devihsh  as  it  is,  it  was  prob- 
ably an  improvement  on  the  face  it  concealed.     You  are  shown 


THE  PERSUASIVE  RACK. 


the  thumbscrew  and  rack, 
confession  from  a  dead  man 


The  thumbscrew  would  extort  a 
and  the  rack  —  well,  that  is  some- 


thing inconceivably  devihsh.  You  are  laid  in  a  box ;  ropes  on 
windlasses  are  tied  to  your  ankles  and  wrists ;  then  the  wind- 
lasses are  turned^  inch  by  inch,  till  your  joints  are  dislocated. 


154 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


After  enduring  the  rack  and  answering  questions  the  way  they 
desired, —  for  a  man  in  that  apparatus  would  say  anything  for 
a  moment's  respite  —  you  are  hurried  to  the  block  for  fear  you 
may  recant  as  soon  as  you  get  out  of  it.  Then  what  was  said 
in  the  rack  was  put  upon  record  as  a  testimony  on  which  to 
rack  and  behead  other  people.  Those  were  the  "  good  old  days 
of  merrie  England." 

During  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  six  hundred  Jews  were 
imprisoned  in  the  dungeons  of  the  tower  for  "  adulterating  the 

coinofthe 
realm."  The 
trouble  with 
these  Jew^s  was 
they  had  too 
much  of  the 
coin  of  the 
realm,  and  Ed- 
ward too  little. 
Tlie  chronicler 
goes  on  to  say 
that  so  strong 
was  the  preju- 
dice of  the 
s  King  against 
I'  these  people 
that  he  ban- 
ished the  race 
from  England, 
but,  with  the 
THE  BYWARD  TOWER.  thrift  that  dis- 

[From  the  West.]  tinguished   the 

Kings  of  that  day,  he  compelled  them  to  leave  behind  them 
their  immense  wealth,  w^hich  he  gobbled,  and  their  hbraries, 
which,  as  he  couldn't  read  he  had  no  use  for,  went  to  the 
monasteries.  I  suppose  he  sold  them  by  the  pound  to  the 
monks  who  could  read.  King  Edward  has  a  counterpart  in  the 
Enghsh  landlord  of  to-day.  He  allows  no  foreigner  to  take 
any  money  out  of  the  kingdom.  It  is  curious  how  national 
traits  show  in  people  through  ages.     England  has  no  more 


MOKE   MURDER. 


155 


Barons  to  take  things  by  the  strong  hand,  but  she  has  hotel- 
keepers.  Their  processes  are  different,  but  the  result  is  the 
same.  They  have  no  racks  now,  but  they  have  beds  —  the 
thumb-screw  is  gone  forever,  but  bills  are  yet  made  out. 

In  those  days  it  was  not  enough  to  be  a  heretic  or  disturber 
to  gain  admission  to  this  portal  to  the  tomb ;  it  was  only  neces- 
sary to  be  suspected,  and  when  a  man  in  favor  wanted  to  get 
his  enemy  out  of  the  way,  it  was  very  easy  to  suspect.  Talent, 
usefulness  to  the  ^ 

Stat  e — nothing, 
was  proof  against 
it.  Cromwell, 
one  of  the  most 
briUiant  men  of 
his  day.  Secre- 
tary to  the  still 
greater  Wolsey, 
on  a  most  frivo- 
lous charge,  was 
seized  and  be- 
headed. He  was 
becoming  too 
powerful  to  suit 
the  favorites. 
Women  suffered 
the  same  as  men, 
and  exalted  sta- 
tion went  for 
nothing.  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh 
was  beheaded  to 
please  the  Spaniards,  one  of  whose  Princesses  the  King  desired 
to  marry. 

A  large  part  of  the  vast  building  is  now  used  as  a  great 
^National  armory.  Stored  within  its  walls  are  ninety  thousand 
rifles  of  the  latest  and  most  approved  patterns,  aU  in  perfect 
order,  even  to  the  oiling,  and  ready  for  use  at  a  moment's 
notice  England  is  always  ready  for  war.  It  would  be  a  quick 
nation  that  could  catch  her  napping.  These  murderous  weapons 
looked  cheerfully  by  comjjarison  with  the  barbamus  tools  the 


THE  MIDDLE   TOWER 

(From  the  East.) 


156 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


old  English  used.     After  looking  at  the  battle-axes,  and  flails, 
and  lances,  it  would  seem  to  be  a  comfort  to  be  merely  shot  to 


,;(!if'i'^Kli!!;i!!iii!'i!il 


THE  BEEF  EATER. 


death  with  a  Martini  Henry  rifle.     One  could  feel  some  sort  of 
comfort  in  going  out  via  a  decent  rifle  ball. 

The  guards  of   the  Tower  are  the  famous  '^Beef  Eaters," 


THE    ANCIENT    BEEF    EATERS. 


157 


and  are  all  habited  in  the  uniform  of  the  Yeomen  of  the  Guard 
of  the  time  of  Henry  YII.,  who  instituted  the  corps.  The 
present  yeomen  are  all  old  soldiers,  who  have  distinguished 
themselves,  and  a  very  pleasant  time  they  have  of  it.  They 
don't  have  to  drag  women  to  the  block  by  the  hair  of  their 
heads  any  more,  but  spend  most  of  their  time  standing  around 
listlessly  and  eating  ham  sandwiches,  which  is  certainly  better 
than  their  ancient  employment.  There  is  nothing  cruel  in  an 
Enghsh  ham  sandwich  but  its  indigestibihty,  and  that  only 
concerns     the  ____ 

eater.  It  is  a 
matter  entirely 
between  h  i  m 
and  his  stom- 
ach, and  does 
not  concern  me 
at  all. 

The  ancient 
kings  did  not 
have  as  good  a 
time  as  one 
would  think, 
for  every  now 
and  then  a 
baron  would 
raise  a  rebel- 
lion, or  a  knight 
would  shoot  a 
vicious  arrow 
at  him,  or  the 
House  of  Com- 
mons would  rise,  and  protest  with  arms  in  their  hands  against 
his  abuses.  But  their  followers,  these  fellows  Avhose  armors  are 
before  me  this  minute,  they  did  have  a  good  time.  Their  mas- 
ters found  it  to  their  own  interest  to  feed  them  well,  and  their 
httle  acts  of  oppression  on  their  own  account  were  winked  at. 
And  so  they  Uved  a  jolly  hfe,  their  bodies  pampered  with  food, 
their  noses  in  a  constant  blush  for  the  hquor  they  consumed, 
and  with  the  pick  of  the  daughters  of  the  peasantry,  who  w^ere 


THE  FLINT  TOWER. 


158 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


helpless  against  them.  It  was  no  small  thing  to  be  a  stout 
man-at-arms  in  those  days,  and  in  the  service  of  a  powerful 
Lord.  Fighting  was  really  and  literally  meat  and  drink  to 
them,  and  they  actually  hked  it. 

Suspected  men  of  unusual  importance  were  always  conveyed 
to  the  Tower  by  water,  in  barges  gorgeous  to  a  degree.  Hence 
there  is  a  water  gate  caUed  "  Traitor's  Gate,"  which  is  worth 

seeing,  when 
one  considers 
how  many 
great  men 
have  passed 
through  it  to 
their  death. 
For  a  com- 
mitment t  o 
the  Tower 
was  equiva- 
lent to  death. 
If  a  man  was 
accused  of 
treason,  or 
witchcraft,  or 
anything  else, 
and  the  party 
against  him 
was  strong 
enough  to 
send  him  to 
the  Tower, 
that  ended  it.  Or  if  a  King  desired  to  get  rid  of  anybody, 
man  or  woman,  it  was  easy  enougli  to  have  a  charge  brought, 
a  commitment  to  the  Tower  followed,  and  the  dispatch  was 
easy  enough.  The  Tower  was  a  slaughter  pen  where  those 
obnoxious  to  a  King  or  his  favorites  could  be  butchered  without 
uncomfortable  publicity,  and,  if  necessary  with  some  color  of 
law.     As  if  the  favorite  should  say : 

"Your  majesty,  what  shaU  we  do  with  Sir  Thomas  Buster? 
Behead  himT' 


THE  TRAITOR'S  GATE. 


THE    CASE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    BUSTEK. 


159 


"  Oh,  bother,  what's  the  use  of  going  to  that  worry.  A  knife 
under  his  fifth  rib  will  do  as  well." 

And  accordingly  the  next  morning,  just  before  his  breakfast 
was  served,  a  low-browed  ruffian  would  go  to  his  ceU,  and  Sir 
Thomas  would  get 
the  knife  under  his 
ribs,  and  a  hole 
would  be  dug,  and 
that  was  the  last 
of  him.  They  gen- 
erally stabbed 
them  at  seven  in 
the  morning,  to 
Bave  the  expenses 
of  the  last  break- 
fast. He  might 
as  well  go  into  the  ^ 
hereafter  on  an 
empty  stomach, 
and  it  was  that 
much  saved  to  the 
King's  treasury.  \ 
They  had  a  good 
notion  of  economy 
in  some  directions. 
Or  a  hasty  trial 
might  be  had,  and 
the  illustrious  pris- 
oner might  be  led 
to  the  block  and 
have  his  head 
chopped  off.  Any- 
how it  amounted  to  the  same  thing.  Sir  Thomas  was  bound 
to  die  in  one  way  or  another. 

I  have  a  profound  respect  for  the  murdered  of  the  Tower, 
but  not  a  particle  for  their  sacred  butchers,  the  Kings  and 
Queens  of  that  day.  To  have  been  murdered  in  the  Tower,  no 
matter  by  what  means  or  in  what  way,  was  a  certificate  of 
good  character  that  should  have  lasted  till  to-day.     By  chance^ 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO   WITH  SIR  THOMAS  BUSTER? 


160 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


they  might  occasionally  kill  a  bad  man,  but  as  a  rule  the 
victims  were  men  who  incurred  the  displeasure  of  the  powers 
that  were  by  opposing  infamy;  by  making  some  sort  of  a 
stand,  no  matter  how  weak,  for  something  good.  I  s  hould  hked 
to  have  had  time  to  get  flowers  to  drop  on  the  spots  where 

they  were  supposed  to 
be  interred,  and  I 
would  have  done  it  to 
I  some  extent,  only  no 
•one  knows  where  these 
spots  are.  A  flower 
|dropped  anywhere 
within  the  Tower 
would  fall  on  some 
lone's  grave,  but  you 
might  possibly  deco- 
rate the  wrong  man. 
I  didn't  do  it,  aoid  I 
do  n't  suppose  the  illus- 
trious deceased  would 
care  much  about  it 
anyhow.  If  I  cared 
anything  about  what 
posterity  should  say 
about  me  after  I  had 
gone  hence,  I  shouldn't 
want  anything  better  than  to  have  been  butchered  in  the 
Tower.  That  is  a  better  patent  of  nobility  than  any  that  King 
or  Kaiser  can  confer.  Whoso  died  there,  died  in  a  good  cause, 
no  matter  what  it  was.  The  victim  must  have  been  good,  for 
the  kingly  butcher  was  always  bad. 


THE  EASIEST  WAY. 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

TWO    ENGLISH    NUISANCES DRESS    AND    TIPS.       • 

With  that  propensity  for  lying  on  the  part  of  traveled  men 
and  women  to  which  1  have  had  occasion  to  refer,  the  intend- 
ing tourist  is  warned  by  all  who  have  crossed  the  water  to  take 
as  little  clothing  as  possible,  for  the  reason  that  "  you  can  get 
any  clothes  you  want  in  London  at  half  the  money,  and  then 
you  have  the  style,  you  know."  What  infernal  spirit  seizes 
traveled  people  and  compels  such  terrible  falsification,  I  cannot 
conceive. 

Quality  considered,  clothing  is  no  cheaper  in  London  than 
in  ISTew  York.  Which  is  to  say,  if  you  are  so  lost  to  all  sense 
of  what  is  due  yourself  and  the  world  as  to  wear  such  clothes 
as  the  Londoner  does,  you  can  get  them  quite  as  cheaply  in 
'New  York  as  in  London,  and  even  if  you  want  bad  clothes  the 
style  will  be  better.  Should  the  American  tailor  try  ever  so 
hard  to  make  a  badly-fitting  garment,  his  conscience,  his  taste, 
his  everything,  would  rebel  against  doing  such  work  as  the 
English  tailor  considers  quite  good  enough  for  anybody. 

You  can  get  at  a  fairly  fashionable  shop  in  London  a  suit 
of  black  or  blue,  frock  coat,  trowsers  and  vest,  for  five  pounds, 
which  looks  very  cheap  to  one  who  has  been  in  the  habit  of 
paying  sixty-five  dollars  for  the  same  clothing  in  Xew  York  or 
Boston. 

But  just  wait  till  you  get  the  clothes  and  the  idea  of  cheap- 
ness goes  like  dew  under  a  July  sun.  All  there  is  cheap  in  the 
transaction  is  the  suit.  The  material  is  very  cheap,  cheap  to 
the  point  of  flimsiness,  and  the  making  —  heaven  help  you  — 
it  is  thrown  together.  There  are  no  stays  to  the  pockets,  no 
reinforcing  to  the  seat,  no  leather  on  the  inside  of  the  bottoms 
of  the  trowsers,  and  the  linings  of  the  coat  and  vest,  or  waist- 
11  ^  (161) 


X62  NASBY    IN    EXILK. 

coat,  as  these  serai-barbarians  call  it,  are  of  the  cheapest  and 
flimsiest  material  that  a  devilish  ingenuity  can  weave.  The 
suit  cannot  possibly  wear  a  month  and  look  decent. 

But  the  worst  is  yet  to  come.  You  try  it  on.  We  will 
suppose  the  coat  to  be  a  single-breasted  frock.  You  are  imme- 
diately astonished  at  the  liberality  of  your  tailor  in  the  matter 
of  cloth,  for  when  you  draw  the  lapels  together  you  find  your- 
self able  to  button  the  right  hand  one  on  the  left  hand  shoulder. 

"  Too  much  cloth  in  front,"  you  remark. 

"  I  thought  you  wanted  an  easy  fit ! "  the  villain  answers 
without  a  blush. 

"  So  I  did,  but  I  did  not  want  all  the  cloth  in  your  shop." 

Then  comes  an  animated  discussion.  You  insist  that  it 
never  has  been  your  habit  to  go  about  in  a  sack,  that  you 
prefer  not  to  appear  habited  in  a  bag.  The  tailor  stands  off  a 
foot  or  two,  and  admits  that  while  it  is  perhaps  "a  trifle  easy," 
it  is  still  a  proper  garment  and  quite  in  the  mode.  But  if  you 
prefer  he  will  alter  it.  Prefer !  why  it  will  fit  Daniel  Lambert. 
It  is  twice  too  large  for  you  and  of  course  it  must  be  altered. 
Then  he  takes  French  chalk,  and  makes  a  lot  of  marks  on  it 
and  you  leave  it.  In  a  few  days  he  sends  it  to  you  altered. 
You  put  it  on,  and  commence  swearing  if  you  are  a  profane 
man,  and  objurgating,  if  you  are  not.  I  objurgated.  For  the 
trowsers  hang  about  your  legs  like  bags,  the  waistcoat  climbs 
up  the  back  of  j^our  neck  to  the  ears,  the  coat  is  loose  where  it 
should  fit  closely,  it  is  tight  where  it  should  be  easy,  the 
skirts  hang  about  you  awkwardly,  it  is  angular,  stiff  and 
awkward,  and  yet  it  comes  so  near  to  being  a  garment  that 
you  are  compelled  to  take  it,  especially,  as,  following  the 
advice  of  the  infernal  tourist  who  said  to  you  to  take  only  one 
suit  with  you,  you  must  have  it  at  once.  And  so  you  put  it 
on,  and  go  out  into  the  street,  feeling  as  though  you  were  an 
object  to  be  stared  at,  and  blighted.  You  bear  not  only  the 
burden  of  physical  discomfort,  for  a  misfit  is  always  uncomfort- 
able, but  have  the  consciousness  that  you  are  badly  dressed, 
and  that  every  bad  point  in  your  physical  make-up,  is  made 
still  more  conspicuous  by  the  lack  of  skill  in  a  tailor. 

The  only  comfort  you  have  is  that  everybody  else  is  just  as 
badly  apparelled.     Your  American  friends  know  at  a  glance 


THE   MIX    IN    CLOTHES. 


163 


that  it  is  not  your  fault,  but  that  you  have  passed  under  the 
blighting  shears  of  an  English  tailor,  and  your  English  friends 
are  all  in  the  same  fix.  But  then  they  enjoy  bad  clothes, 
never  ha^dng  had  any  other. 

There  were  four  Americans  in  one  house  in  London  who 
each  ordered  a  suit  of  clothes  of  one  tailor  at  one  time.  The 
four  suits  came  home  Saturday  evening,  and  were  all  tried  on 
Sunday  morning.     One  was  tall  and  slender,  another  short  and 


<iilllll  8. 


/ilOREnz. 


THE  SUITS  COME  HOME. 


stout,  the  third  was  dumpy,  and  the  fourth  was  medium  in 
height  and  breadth. 

Xo.  1  rushed  into  my  room. 
"  there  is  a  mistake  somewhere. 
They  were  never  made  for  me." 

N'o.  2  entered.     "These  d— 


"  Look  here,"  he  exclaimed 
These  clothes  must  be  yours. 

— d  trowsers  must  be  yours. 


They  were  never  made  for  me." 

And  in  a  minute  IRo.  3  came  in  with  the  same  exclama- 
tion.  An  examination  of  the  addresses  on  the  wrapping  paper 


164  *  NASBY   IN    EXILE. 

showed,  however,  that  each  had  received  the  clothes  intended 
for  him,  notwithstanding  that  each  suit  would  have  better 
fitted  some  other  man.  And  then  I  soothed  them  by  explain- 
ing that  the  English  tailor  makes  all  clothes  alike ;  that  he 
goes  upon  the  supposition  that  every  man  should  be  so  high, 
and  so  broad,  and  that  measurement  is  a  mere  form  gone 
through  with  as  a  professional  fraud,  the  same  as  a  lawyer 
looks  the  wisest  when  he  knows  the  least ;  and  that  to  make 
any  fuss  about  it  would  result  in  nothing,  and  the  only  thing 
to  do  was  to  take  them,  pay  for  them,  and  wear  them  while  in 
England.  They  were  no  worse  off  than  everybody  else,  and 
that  they  should  be  philosophical  and  content.  One  remarked, 
with  a  great  deal  of  truth,  that  all  the  philosophy  in  the 
world  would  n't  make  a  six  foot  man  look  well  in  a  pair  of 
trowsers  constructed  for  a  five  foot  sixer,  and  another  that  he 
knew  of  no  philosophy  that  would  support  one  under  the 
trying  affliction  of  a  coat  that  bagged  on  the  shoulders  and 
in  the  back,  and  that  had  no  more  shape  to  it  than  a  bean  sack. 

That  is  where  they  were  wrong.  That  is  what  philosophy 
is  made  for.  England  has  given  the  world  its  greatest  philoso- 
phers, her  philosophers  being  made  necessary  by  her  tailors,  the 
same  as  every  country  that  cherishes  an  especially  poisonous 
serpent,  also  grows  a  particularly  powerful  antidote,  and  the 
snake  and  antidote  grow  together. 

The  women  dress  a  trifle  worse  than  the  men  —  their  dress- 
makers are  a  trifle  worse  than  their  tailors.  If  an  English 
woman  would  only  buy  her  gowns  ready  made,  it  would  be 
better,  for  there  would  be  a  chance  —  only  a  slight  one,  it  is 
true,  but  yet  a  chance  —  of  her  getting  a  fit ;  but  she  will  not. 
She  goes  to  the  most  expensive  modiste,  "  to  get  something 
good,"  and  then  all  hope  of  a  prettily  dressed  woman  is  gone, 
and  gone  forever. 

You  can  tell  an  American  or  French  woman  as  far  as  you 
can  see  one.  The  neatly  fitting  dress,  so  neatly  fitting  as  to 
make  you  almost  think  the  woman  had  -been  melted  and 
poured  into  it,  the  dress  of  which  an  American  girl  said,  that 
when  she  got  into  it  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  born  again  ; 
the  neat  little  shoe ;  the  grace  with  which  the  dress  is  carried, 
and  the  grace  of   the  woman   who  carries  it;  all  contrast 


A  BADLY  DKESSED  PEOPLE.  165 

terribly  with  the  angular  gown,  the  shawl  badly  hung,  and 
awkwardly  worn,  the  ugly  shoe  and  the  large  foot  it  covers, 
and  the  square,  steady,  grenadier-like  step  of  the  English 
woman. 

No  matter  how  expensive  the  material,  or  how  costly  the 
garments,  no  matter  how  much  Nature  has  done  for  the 
Englishwomen,  (and  they  are,  as  a  rule,  magnificent  specimens 
of  womankind,)  they  can't  dress,  and  consequently  lose  half 
their  attractiveness.  They  have  strength,  but  they  sadly  lack 
grace. 

It  is  all  well  enough  for  me,  for  I  prefer  badly  fitting 
clothes,  desiring  to  keep  down  to  the  ordinary  level,  and  not 
be  made  too  conspicuous ;  but  it  is  hard  upon  those  less  favored, 
and  who  need  to  reinforce  nature  by  art. 

But  always  bear  this  in  mind.  When  you  come  abroad 
bring  with  you  all  the  clothes  you  think  you  will  need,  unless, 
indeed,  you  come  flying  light  in  the  matter  of  baggage  for 
convenience  of  transit.  If  that  is  your  idea  it  is  well,  but  if 
you  come  expecting  to  furnish  yourself  in  England  at  a  less 
price,  or  to  get  superior  styles,  you  will  be  the  worst  deceived 
man  or  woman  in  the  world.  Quality  considered,  there  is 
nothing  cheaper  than  in  America,  and,  as  for  style,  it  is  a 
Parisian  dandy  to  a  Hottentot.  The  English  tailor  is  the  most 
detestable  cloth-butcher  on  the  globe.  So  unutterably  bad  is 
he  that  I  cannot  ascribe  his  miracles  of  misfits  to  lack  of 
mechanical  skill,  or  general  imbecility ;  there  must  be  under- 
lying his  work  a  fiendish  purpose  and  determination.  The 
English  tailor  or  dressmaker  must  be  a  misanthropic  individual 
who  has  a  spite  against  the  human  race,  and  they  must  have  a 
vengeance  to  wreak  which  they  accomplish  in  this  way. 

I  don't  wish  it  to  be  understood  that  all  English  men  and 
women  are  badly  dressed.  I  have  seen  some  most  charming 
toilettes,  but  on  inquiry  I  found  that  they  were  well-to-do 
people  who  could  afford  to  go  to  Paris  to  get  their  clothes,  or 
those  who  had  just  returned  from  New  York. 

If  you  desire  to  be  well  dressed  in  London,  take  your 
clothes  with  you.  This  is  the  parting  advice  of  a  sufferer  and 
victim.  I  have  paid  for  my  experience — I  give  it  to  my  readers 
gratis.  That  is  what  I  am  here  for,  and  I  shall  discharge  my 
duty  regardless  of  consequences. 


166  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

The  next  principal  nuisance  you  meet  in  England  is  the 
system  of  "  tipping."  "  Tipping,"  be  it  known,  is  gratuities 
given  to  servants,  or  whomsoever  does  anything  for  you  which, 
in  any  other  enlightened  country  on  the  face  of  the  globe,  is 
considered  an  act  of  courtesy,  or  a  matter  of  right. 

It  commences  the  moment  you  leave  the  dock  at  l^ew 
York.  You  have  paid  a  very  large  sum  for  your  passage, 
enough  to  entitle  you  to  every  comfort  that  money  can  buy. 
But  there  sets  upon  you  immediately  a  horde  of  blood-suckers 
who  never  let  go,  till,  gorged,  they  drop  off  at  Liverpool. 
There  is  a  sovereign  to  the  man  who  makes  your  bed ;  there  is 
the  chamber-maid,  there  is  the  table  stew^ard,  the  smoking-room 
steward,  the  deck  steWard ;  there  are  collections  for  asylums 
in  Liverpool ;  there  are  collections  for  the  man  who  attends  to 
the  purser's  room,  where  a  select  few  are  treated  to  a  little 
refreshment  at  five  in  the  afternoon  ;  there  are  fees  for  show- 
ing the  machinery  of  the  vessel ;  there  are  tips  for  the  Lord 
only  knows  what.  The  only  thing  free  about  the  vessel  is  the 
water  outside,  and  could  a  scheme  be  devised  for  making  you 
pay  for  a  sight  of  that  it  would  be  put  into  operation  at  once. 

Then  there  is  the  English  hotel.  The  landlord  measures 
you  as  you  come  in.  He  inventories  you.  He  says  ''  this  man 
will  stand  six  pounds,  or  eight  may  be.  That  will  leave  him 
enough  to  get  back  to  London,  with  a  cab  fare  to  take  him  to 
his  lodgings."  And  so  w^hen  he  makes  his  bill  he  manages  to 
make  it  to  the  exact  amount  of  w^hat  he  thinks  you  have  about 
your  person,  irrespective  of  what  accommodation  you  have 
received.  In  paying  this  enormous  bill  should  you  display  more 
money  than  he  supposed  you  carried,  he  gnashes  his  teeth  and 
howls  with  rage.  But  he  very  seldom  gnashes  or  howds.  He 
is  a  very  skillful  person,  and  knows  intuitively  to  a  half-sover- 
eign how  much  you  wall,  or  rather  can,  bleed. 

You  contract  for  your  room  for  so  much  a  day  —  and  the 
sum  is  always  a  round  one  —  and  it  is  explained  to  you  that  you 
may  order  your  meals  from  a  bill  of  fare,  the  price  of  each  dish 
being  set  down  opposite  its  name.  Yery  good,  you  say  to  your- 
self, I  know  now  what  I  am  to  pay,  and  you  fall  to  w^ork.  Do 
you  ?  [N'ot  much.  There  stands  a  waiter,  who  makes  a  frantic 
effort  to  appear  like  a  man,  but  only  succeeds  in  getting  to 
where  Darwin  commenced  the  human  race.     But  he  rubs  his 


AT    AN    ENGLISH    HOTEL.  167 

hands,  and  smirks,  and  smiles,  and  brings  you  your  orders,  and 
still  smiles  and  smiles,  and  would  be  a  villain  were  there  enough 
of  hun.     He  does  all  he  can  in  this  direction,  however. 

When  you  are  through,  you  rise  and  prepare  to  get  out. 
The  waiter  stops  you  with  an  obsequious  smile  in  which  there 
is  much  determination,  and  remarks,  "the  waiterJ"  You  are 
made  to  understand  that  he  expects  a  shilling.  You  give  it  to 
him.  Getting  to  your  room  you  want  a  pitcher  of  water.  A 
servant  brings  it,  and  waits  till  you  give  him  a  six  pence.  You 
take  a  drink  —  if  you  do  drink  —  I  know  this  from  seeing  other 
victims  —  you  pay  for  the  drink,  and  the  servant  who  brings  it 
to  you  expects  and  manages  to  get  three  pence.  The  boy  who 
cleans  your  boots  wants  six  pence,  the  chambermaid  who  sweeps 
your  room  wants  a  shilhng,  the  boy  who  goes  down  to  see  if 
you  have  any  letters  wants  six  pence,  and  after  paying  for  all 
this  you  get  your  bill.  Understand  you  have  already  paid  exor- 
bitant prices  for  each  and  every  bit  of  service  you  have  received, 
but  nevertheless,  there  in  your  bill  is  an  item,  "  attendance  four 
days,'  eight  shillings."  You  pay  it  without  a  murmur,  extern- 
ally; and  hope  you  are  done  with  it.  Kot  so.  As  you  leave 
the  hotel,  there  stands  the  entire  retinue  of  servants,  the  boots, 
the  chambermaid,  the  bar-man,  the  beU-boy,  all  with  their 
hands  extended,  and  every  one  expecting  a  parting  shower  of 
small  coin.     You  pay  it.     There  is  no  other  way  to  do. 

You  see  how  it  is.  You  pay  the  servants  for  the  perform- 
ance of  every  possible  duty  when  they  perform  it ;  you  then 
pay  the  landlord  for  the  duties  already  paid  for,  and  then  as 
you  leave  the  house  you  pay  the  servants  over  again.  Three 
times  for  the  same  service,  and  that  whether  any  service  has 
been  rendered  or  not. 

You  get  into  your  cab  and  drive  to  the  station.  The  legal 
fare  is  one  and  six  pence.  The  cabby  expects  six  pence  in  addi- 
tion, for  himself,  the  porter  who  shows  you  what  car  to  get 
into,  with  the  uniform  of  the  company,  on  his  back,  expects  four 
pence  for  that,  the  other  porter  who  takes  your  vahse  to  the 
car-door,  must  be  feed,  and  so  on,  and  so  on  forever  and 
forever. 

I  tried  conclusions  with  a  hotel  clerk  in  a  city  in  England, 
but  I  shall  never  do  it  again.     There  is  no  use.     You  might  as 


3  68 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


well  submit  first  as  last.  You  may  struggle,  but  they  have  you 
as  certainly  as  their  ancestors  and  prototypes,  the  old  Barons, 
had  the  Jcavs. 

I  went  to  bed  at  night  with  two  candles  on  the  mantel.  It 
was  bright  moonlight,  and  as  I  had  read  my  regular  chapter  in 
the  Eevised  Testament  in  the  office,  I  had  no  occasion  for  light. 
I  simply  wanted  to  get  into  bed,  therefore  I  didn't  hght  the 

candles,  at  all. 

The  next  morning  I 
found  in  my  bill  a  charge 
for  two  candles,  two  shil- 
hngs.     I  protested. 

"I  used  no  candles,"  I 
said. 

^'  But  they  were  there," 
was  the  cool  reply.  "  Per- 
haps you  used  matches  — 
it  is  all  the  same." 

"But  I  didn't  use 
matches,  and  if  I  did,'  I 
had  my  own." 

"  We  do  everything  for 
the  comfort  of  the  guests 
of  the  house.  There  were 
candles  and  matches  for 
you." 

He  never  blushed  but 
took  the  two  shillings  as 
coolly  as  possible,  receipted 
the  bill  and  said  ''Thank 
you,"  and  hoped  if  I  ever 
visited  the  place  again  I  would  call  upon  them. 

I  presume  I  shall.  It  does  n't  make  any  difference  where 
you  go,  it  is  all  the  same ;  and  if  you  are  to  be  swindled,  it  is 
preferable  to  have  it  done  by  somebody  you  have  a  slight 
acquaintance  with. 

It  reminded  me  of  the  man  who  built  a  tavern  in  Indiana. 
A  traveler  stopped  with  him  one  night,  and  the  next  morning 
asked  for  his  bill. 


THE  CANDLE  EPISODE. 


THE    ENGLISH    LANDLORD. 


169 


"  Twelve  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,"   said  the   landlord, 
promptly. 

"Twelve  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  for  one 
day !     It  is  outrageous ! " 

"  It  is  a  little  high," 
said  the  landlord,  "but 
I'll  tell  you  how  it  is.  I 
opened  this  house  exactly 
a  year  ago  yesterday.  I 
expected  to  make  a  thou- 
sand dollars  the  first 
year,  and  you  are  the  first 
customer  I  have  had.  I 
ought  to  charge  you  a 
little  more  to  cover  insur- 
ance, but  I  like  you,  and 
do  n't  want  to  be  hard  on. 
you.  Twelve  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  will  do." 

The  English  land- 
lord likewise  makes  out 
his  bill  with  the  calm  confidence  that  he  will  never  see  his 
guest   again.     He  seldom  does  —  if    the  guest   can  help  it. 

I  have  orated 
much  against  the 
American  hotel  clerk 
and  his  diamond  pin 
and  cool  insolence, 
but  I  shall  never  do 
it  again.  He  is  a  babe 
in  arms  as  compared 
with  his  English 
brother. 

The  system  of  fee- 
ing goes  into  e  v  e  r  3^- 
thing    and    every-  getting  ready  to  leave  a  hotel. 

where.  You  are  begrudged  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  unless  you 
are  willing  to  tip  somebody,  and  I  suppose  a  tip  would  be  re- 
quired for  a  snore,  if  a  servant  could  possibly  get  into  your  room. 


THE  LITTLE  BILL. 


170 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


In  fact,  you  cannot  go  anywhere  in  London  without  the 
everlasting  and  eternal  tip,  except  the  British  Museum,  That 
is  the  single  and  sole  exception.     There,  on  certain  days,  there 


THE  LAST  STRAW. 

is  no  admission  fee,  and  you  pay  nothing  for  having  your  cane 
and  umbrella  cared  for.  But  everywhere  else  you  pay  an 
admission  fee,  you  pay  a  swindler  for  taking  your  cane,  and 
you  pay  the  guide  for  giving  3^ou  an  entirely  unintelligible 

account  of  what  is  to  be  seen. 
Even  Westminster  Abbey,  the 
most  sacred  spot  in  England, 
has  its  regular  system  of 
tips.  It  is  not  as  it  was  in 
the  Temple  of  Jerusalem,  in 
the  time  of  our  Savior. 
Ijj  There  were  money  changers 
li'i'  there  —  here  the  vergers  give 
no  change.  They  keep  all  you 
give  them.  Consequently  they 
are  not  liable  to  be  scourged 
out. 

In  the  restaurants  there  is 
a  charge  on  the  bills  for  atten- 
dance, but  nevertheless  you  are  expected  to  tip  the  man  who 
waits  upon  you.  By  tlie  way,  these  waiters  get  no  pay  for 
their  services  ;  they  pay  the  proprietors  a  bonus  for  their  places. 


THE  CABMAN  TIPPED. 


WOULD    THE    QUEEN    ACCEPT    A    TIP 


171 


The  hackney  coach  driver  gets  about  two  shiUings  a  day 
from  the  proprietors  of  his  vehicles,  and  makes  his  money  from 
his  customers.  The  man  who  drove  us  down  to  the  Derby 
expected,  and  did  not  expect  in  vain,  for  he  demanded  it  directly, 


THE  UNIVERSAL  DEMAND. 

two  shillings  each  from  his  twelve  passengere,  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  we  had  paid  twelve  dollars  and  fifty  cents  each  for 
our  passage. 

It  runs  through  everything.  I  will  not  say  that  the  Queen 
herself  divides  with  her  servants  the  tips  they  receive,  for  I  do 
not  know.  I  wdU  not  make  statements  rashly.  But  I  presume 
she  does.  I  do  not  see  how  so  important  a  source  of  revenue 
should  escape  her  notice,  or  be  neglected.  I  shall  not  offer  her 
sixpence  when  I  inspect  any  of  her  palaces,  nor  do  I  say  she 


172 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


would  take  it  from  me.  But  so  firmly  fixed  is  the  infernal 
system,  so  much  is  it  a  part  of  English  hf e,  that  I  verily  believe 
it  would  wrench  the  amiable  old  lady's  heart  not  to  take  it,  and 
I  also  beheve  that  she  would  so  manage  that  I  should  not  get 
away  with  it  in  my  possession. 

Oh !  my  countrymen  !  It  is  my  duty  to  warn  you  against 
a  great  impending  danger.  The. system  of  tipping  is,  gradually 
but  surely,  getting  its  rapacious  fingers  upon  your  vitals.  It 
has  its  clammy  grasp  upon  your  sleeping  cars  ; '  it  is  gradually 
working  into  hotels,  and  everywhere  else.  Strangle  the  mon- 
ster in  its  infancy.  Declare  war  upon  it  at  once,  and  fight  it  to 
the  death.  Kefuse  to  pay  the  sleeping  car  porter  for  what  you 
have  already  paid  the  corporation  of  which  he  is  an  excrescence. 
Refuse  sternly  to  fee  the  servant  at  a  hotel,  the  porter  who 
handles  your  trunk,  and  the  man  who  waits  on  you  at  table. 
When  he  says  to  you,  "  My  wages  are  smaU,  and  I  must  have 
fees,"  say  to  him,  kindly  but  firmly,  "  Either  make  the  propri- 
etor pay  you  proper  wages  or  quit  his  employ.  If  you  cannot 
plow  or  hammer  stone,  go  out  quietly  and  die  for  the  good  of 
the  many.  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  wear  a  swallow- 
tailed  coat,  and  make  more  for  trivial  services  than  the  average 
menhanic  does  for  a  hard  day's  work.     We  will  none  of  it." 

And  so  shaU  you  rid  yourself  of  the  most  infernal  nuisance 
that  afflicts  England,  the  one  petty  worriment  that  makes  the 
life  of  the  tourist  unhappy.  We  can  endure  a  giant  monopoly, 
but  these  small  tyrannies  are  unbearable. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

POETS MOUTH. 

Way  down  upon  the  Southern  coast  of  England  is  an  old 
town  of  more  than  ordinary  interest.  Everybody  is  familiar 
with  that  great  depot  for  England's  naval  and  military 
forces  —  Portsmouth. 

The  run  down  from  London  is  one  of  delight,  that  is  it 
would  be  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  the  stolid  Briton  will 
not  keep  pace  with  the  times,  and  introduce  upon  his  railroads 
modern  carriages,  in  which  a  traveler  may  ride  with  some 
degree  of  comfort.  He  refuses  to  abandon  the  ancient  com- 
partment carriage,  which  is  the  most  abominable  arrangement 
conceivable.  The  cars,  as  we  would  call  them,  are  about  half 
the  size  of  the  ordinary  American  passenger  coaches,  but 
instead  of  being  large,  roomy  and  convenient,  they  are  exactly 
the  reverse.  They  are  divided  into  compartments,  each  one  of 
which  will  hold  ten  persons,  five  on  each  side,  facing  each 
other. 

After  booking  your  place,  instead  of  buying  your  ticket  — 
although  really  you  do  buy  a  ticket  — you  take  your  seat  in 
one  of  these  compartments,  in  which  are  nine  other  persons. 
Thereupon  the  guard,  about  like  our  brakeman,  locks  the  door, 
and  you  are  a  prisoner  until  the  next  station  is  reached. 

There  are  absolutely  no  conveniences.  You  are  simply 
compelled  to  sit  bolt  upright,  in  a  close,  stuffy  room,  in  com- 
pany with  nine  other  persons  whom  you  do  n't  know,  and 
do  n't  care  to  know.  You  can't  walk  from  one  end  of  the  car 
to  the  other,  because  there  is  no  aisle,  as  in  our  cars.  You 
can  do  nothing  but  sit  there  and  think  what  reforms  you  would 
inaugurate  were  you  only  a  Board  of  Directors  on  one  of  the 
roads. 

(174) 


THE   BEAUTIES    OF    ENGLISH    RAILWAYS. 


175 


It  is  possibly  a  finicky  sort  of  a  person  who  would  object  to 
trifles  light  as  air ;  but  there  be  breaths  that  are  not  as  light 
as  air,  and  they  are  no  trifles.  You  travel  second  or  third 
class,  and  there  shall  be  nine  sturdy  Englishmen  smoking  short 
pipes,  or  villainous  cigars,  with  their  breaths  ornamented  with 
every  variety  of  very  bad  liquor  that  the  combined  genius  of 
the  liquor  compounders  of  all  nations  can  produce.  Likewise 
there  are  feet  innocent  of  baths.     If  you  happen  to  have  an 

end  seat  you  may  let 
down  the  windo^\■ 


3  get  fresh  air,  but  heaven 
j  help  you  if  you  are  in 
Q  the  middle.  You  in- 
hale the  fumes  till  a 
state  approaching  in- 
toxication ensues,  but 
you  must  sit  there  all 
the  same,  for  there  is 
no  escape.  Such  a  de- 
bauch may  be  cheap; 
but  I  never  did  like  any- 
thing  second-hand  — 
secondhand  -intoxi- 
cation least  of  all.  I 
vastly  prefer  original  sin.  And  then  imagine  the  pleasure  of 
traveling  in  such  company  as  one  must  necessarily  be  thrown 
into  by  this  system.  The  terrible  tragedy  on  the  Brighton 
road  recently,  gives  a  good  idea  of  some  of  its  beauties.  A 
well-to-do  merchant  living  in  the  country  had  been  to  London 
to  make  some  sales  of  land,  and  was  spotted  by  an  impecu- 
nious wretch,  who  had  previously  known  him.  The  merchant, 
whose  name  was  Gold,  left  London  on  the  afternoon  train,  and 
was  alone  in  one  of  these  compartments,  securely  locked  with 
the  villain,  whose'  name  was  Lefroy.  It  seems  from  the  facts 
of  the  case,  as  gathered  by  the  police,  that  while  between  two 
stations  Lefroy  attacked  Gold.  There  was  a  violent  struggle, 
during  the  course  of  which  Lefroy  killed  Gold,  rifled  the  body 
and  threw  it  out  of  the  window,  as  it  was  found  by  the  road 
side.     When  the  guard  unlocked  the  compartment  at  the  next 


A  SECOND  HAND  DEBAUCH. 


176  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

station  Lefroy  invented  some  flimsy  story  about  some  mys- 
terious shooting,  to  account  for  the  presence  of  the  blood,  and 
actually  made  his  escape.  It  is  comforting  to  know  that  after- 
ward Lefroy  was  caught,  tried  and  hung.  England  does  hang- 
murderers. 

How  utterly  impossible  such  a  tragedy  would  have  been 
in  an  American  car.  But  here  the  victim  had  absolutely  no 
way  of  calling  for  or  obtaining  assistance.  The  two  were 
alone,  locked  in  the  compartment,  and  the  cries  of  the 
wretched  man  as  he  realized  his  danger,  were  drowned  by 
the  noise  of  the  train  thundering  along  at  sixty  miles  an  hour. 

But  to  return  to  Portsmouth.  The  scenery  from  London 
is  charming.  The  train  rushes  along,  after  leaving  the  fog 
and  smoke  of  London  in  the  rear,  through  the  garden  land  of 
England.  The  fields  are  all  cultivated,  the  farm  houses, 
ancient  and  peculiar,  have  an  air  of  solidity  and  comfort,  and 
an  occasional  castle  lends  variety  to  the  scene  and  makes  the 
picture  perfect. 

The  towns  through  which  the  road  passes  are,  of  course? 
all  very  old.  They  abound  in  red-tiled  houses  of  antique 
pattern,  narrow  streets,  that  at  the  end  of  the  village  lose 
themselves  in  beautiful  lanes,  fringed  on  either  side -with  long 
rows  of  stately  trees  that  shade  the  close-cut  hawthorne 
hedges.  But  over  all  these  is  an  air  of  age.  Everything  is 
finished.  Everything  is  complete.  We  have  visited  so  many 
old  towns,  and  inspected  so  many  old  buildings,  that  it 
would  be  a  positive  relief  to  see  a  brand  new  house,  painted 
white,  with  green  shutters,  whose  gable  roof  glistens  in  the 
sunlight  with  its  new  pine  shingles.  But,  alas !  that  cannot 
be.     Here  everything  is  old  and  purely  English. 

Portsmouth  was  reached  after  a  delightful  run  of  two  and 
a  half  hours,  and  soon  after  we  were  snugly  quartered  in  the 
queerest  hostelry  imaginable,  our  comfortable  room  overlooking 
an  arm  of  the  sea,  upon  which  were  all  manher  of  craft,  from 
the  diminutive  dory  to  the  massive  merchantman. 

Portsmouth  is,  and  always  has  been,  one  of  England's 
strongest  points.  Situated  in  a  most  commanding  position  it 
has  been  an  invaluable  factor  in  her  matter  of  defenses.  Only 
five  or  six  miles  away,  the  Isle  of  Wight  runs  for  miles  parallel 


177 

with  the  coast,  forming  a  narroAV  passage  through  which  the 
vessels  for  a  foreign  nation,  if  they  intended  to  make  a  hostile 
landing  in  that  neighborhood,  must  pass.  Spithead,  the 
famous  place  of  entry  and  departure  of  vessels,  is  just  off  Ports- 
mouth, and  is  guarded,  as  is  the  passage,  by  two  immense 
stone  forts,  built  at  no  end  of  labor  and  money,  directly  in  the 
channel,  effectually  protecting  that  entrance.  And  then  to 
make  things  more  secure,  there  is  a  series  of  three  forts  on  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  while  Portsmouth,  to  speak  within  bounds,  is 
made  up  almost  entirely  of  forts. 

At  first  one  wonders  why  England  finds  it  necessary  to 
keep  these  forts,  and  the  heavy  force  of  soldiers  required  to 
garrison  them.  At  Portsmouth  is  one  of  the  largest,  if  not 
the  largest,  dock  yard  in  the  world,  upon  the  safety  of  which 
the  fate  of  the  nation's  navy  depends,  and  if  that  point,  strong 
as  it  is,  and  affording  such  excellent  opportunities  for  the  pro- 
tection of  the  southern  coast,  were  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
an  enemy,  it  would  open  all  England  to  it.  And  your  English 
are  great  Generals.  In  time  of  peace  they  prepare  for  war, 
and  keep  all  things  in  readiness  for  any  emergency,  no  matter 
how  sudden  or  how  severe. 

The  harbor  is  a  beautiful  one  and  full  of  interest.  Of 
course  there  is  the  inevitable  waterman,  with  his  tarpaulin  hat 
and  tight  fitting  "  Jersey,"  who  beseeches  "  Y'r  hon'r,"  to  let 
him  row  you  about.     And  of  course  he  carries  his  point. 

The  very  first  thing  he  does,  before  you  can  admire  the 
strange  species  of  ships  that  are  on  every  hand,  is  to  row  you 
directly  to  Lord  Nelson's  flag  ship,  the  "  Victory,"  on  which 
the  gallant  sailor  died,  at  the  battle  of  Trafalgar.  But  one  is 
not  sorry  at  that,  for  Nelson's  character  was  one  that  compelled 
the  admiration  of  every  one  who  had  ever  studied  him  and  his 
glorious  achievements.  With  what  a  thrill,  then,  one  stands 
upon  the  very  deck  upon  which  he  trod  during  one  the  most 
brilliant  sea  fi  ghts  in  the  annals  of  history,  to  go  upon  the  gun 
decks  where  he  commanded  his  gallant  sailors.  With  what 
feeling  of  sadness  one  stands  on  the  spot  where  he  stood  when 
the  deadly  leaden  ball  of  a  French  sharpshooter  gave  him 
his  death  wound,  and  with  uncovered  head  bows  before  the 
spot  where  the  soul  of  the  greatest,  bravest  sailor  the  world 
12 


178 


NASBY   IN    EXILE. 


ever  knew,  winged  its  way  amid  the  smoke  and  horror  of  battle 
to  the  peaceful  haven  of  the  great  hereafter. 


THE   ANNIVERSARY  CEREMONIES 


HERE  NELSON  FELL.' 


The  anniversary  of  the  battle  is  celebrated  regularly,  and 
the  old  ship  is  once  each  year  made  radiant  with  flowers.     A 


IN    THE    HARBOR. 


179 


beautiful  wreath  is  always  placed  upon  the  spot  on  the  deck 
where  the  hero  fell. 

It  does  not  seem  possible  that  the  ^reat,  clumsy-looking 
vessels  that  were  used  in  those  days  could  even  be  navigated, 
to  say  nothing  of  fighting  with  them.  The  "Yictory,"  which 
is  only  one  of  a  half  dozen  of  the  same  kind  now  laid  up  — 
put  on  the  retired  list  —  in  Portsmouth  Harbor,  is  a  huge 
floating  castle,  and  required,  w^hen  in  commission,  one  thousand 
men  to  operate  her.     She  is  fifty-eight  feet  from  the  main 


IN  THE  HARBOR. 

deck  to  the  hold,  though  she  seems,  with  her  four  decks  above 
the  water  line,  to  be  even  higher  than  that.  Comparing  her 
with  the  long,  narrow  iron-clad  of  to-day,  it  requires  a  consid- 
erable stretch  of  imagination  to  realize  that  she  had  once  been 
really  in  service,  and  no  slight  service,  either. 

A  two  hours'  trip  around  the  harbor  is  one  of  constantly 
increasing  interest.  There  are  ships  and  ships.  Here  are 
immense  men-of-war,  full  rigged  and  ready  for  a  cruise,  along- 
side of  which  is  a  trim  yacht  flying  the  pennant  of  the  Royal 


180  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Yacht  Squadron.  Here  a  hugh  merchantman,  with  a  cargo 
from  Bombay,  perhaps.  Beyond,  a  great  white  steamer,  larger 
than  the  transatlantic  passenger  steamship,  that  takes  England's 
soldiers,  these  same  red-coated  fellows  we  see  strutting  about 
here  with  their  diminutive  caps  jauntily  perched  over  their  left 
ear,  out  to  India  to  help  keep  the  natives  quiet  and  subdued. 
Right  here  is  the  Queen's  private  yacht,  the  "Albert  and 
Mary,"  a  vessel  of  large  dimensions,  and  fitted  up  in  the  most 
exquisite  manner.  This  is  the  ship  the  Queen  takes  her  little 
excursions  in,  and  occasionally  sends  it  across  the  channel  to 
bring  over  some  distinguished  personage  whom  she  wishes  to 
honor. 

Near  this  palatial  steamer,  as  though  to  make  the  contrast 
all  the  greater,  is  an  old  man-of-war,  built  years  ago,  and 
found  now  to  be  of  no  use,  Either  for  the  purpose  for  which  it 
was  originally  built,  or  for  the  carrying  trade.  So  it  lies  there 
a  worn-out  monument  of  the  past,  gradually  yielding  to  the 
ravages  of  time. 

But  the  great  point  of  interest  in  Portsmouth  is  the  dock- 
yards, the  finest  in  the  world.  A  thorough  survey  of  it  would 
take  three  or  four  days,  but  a  stroll  of  four  or  five  hours  gives 
one  a  fair  idea  of  Avhat  it  is.  Here  the  mammoth  vessels 
belonging  to  England's  naval  equipment  are  taken  for  repairs, 
and  the  dry  docks,  of  which  no  description  is  suificient  to 
convey  a  definite  idea  of  their  size  and  general  appearance,  are 
constantly  filled  with  them.  These  docks  are  magnificent 
specimens  of  masonry,  some  of  them  being  acres  in  extent,  and 
built  in  the  most  solid,  substantial  manner.  In  the  great  build- 
ings fronting  on  the  water  are  vessels  of  all  sizes  and  descrip- 
tions, in  course  of  construction,  some  ready  to  launch,  and 
others  in  the  first  stage  of  the  work. 

Just  now  the  workmen  are  engaged  in  putting  the  finishing 
touches  on  a  great  iron-clad  turret-ship,  of  which  England  is 
very  proud.  And  well  she  may  be,  for  the  "Inflexible"  is 
really  a  wonderful  vessel,  with  her  two  turrets  bearing  each 
two  guns  of  eighty  tons  weight.  The  turrets,  made  of  heavy 
iron  plates,  are  made  to  revolve  by  machinery,  so  that  the 
guns  may  be  fired  in  any  direction.  The  loading  and  cleaning 
is  aU  done  by  ingeniously  arranged  machinery,  worked  by 


SOLDIERS    AND    SAILOKS.  181 

hydraulic  pressure.  In  fact,  all  over  the  ship  steam  power  is 
used  wherever  it  is  possible,  and  in  some  instances  where  it 
seems  almost  impossible.  She  is  built  entirely  of  iron,  and 
seems  impregnable.  As  one  gazes  upon  her  monstrous  propor- 
tions, her  terrible  facilities  for  dealing  death  and  destruction, 
there  comes  involuntarily  the  wish  that  there  may  never  be  an 
occasion  when  her  loud-mouthed  and  frightfully  effective  ser- 
vices may  be  required. 

Impregnable  as  she  seems  to  be,  English  mechanics  are  busy 
inventing  guns  to  pierce  her.  That  is  going  on  all  the  time. 
They  construct  a  vessel  which  will  resist  any  gun  they  have, 
and  then  construct  a  gun  which  will  pierce  the  vessel.  Where 
it  wiU  end  the  Lord  only  knows.  In  England  the  irresistible 
is  always  meeting  the  immovable,  and  vice  versa. 

In  Portsmouth,  more  than  in* any  place  in  England,  the 
policy  of  England  is  manifest.  Portsmouth  is  one  vast  fort, 
and  every  other  man  you  see  on  her  streets  is  a  soldier.  You 
come  upon  vast  fortifications  everywhere,  long  lines  of  earth 
works  stretch  in  every  direction  on  the  coast,  commanding 
every  approach  to  the  city,  and  vast  stores  of  ammunition  are 
piled  away  safe  and  secure  but  ready  for  use  at  a  moment's 
notice.  Portsmouth  is  a  watch  dog  for  that  part  of  the  island, 
and  it  would  be  a  daring  foe  that  would  attack  her.  It  gives 
you  a  very  good  idea  of  England's  strength,  and  of  her  power 
of  defense.  But  heaven  help  the  people  who  have  to  foot  the 
bills  for  all  this. 

After  a  day  spent  in  the  midst  of  all  these  places  suggestive 
of  war  with  its  terrible  sequences,  it  was  a  pleasure,  in  the  eve- 
ning, when  the  light  sea  breeze  tempered  the  heat  that  had 
been  so  oppressive,  to  stroU  down  to  the  "  Old  Fort,"  as  it  is 
caUed,  though  it  bears  but  faint  resemblance  now,  to  an  effect- 
ive fortification.  Its  heavy  stone  abutments  that  Avere  once 
crowned  with  cannon,  are  now  covered  with  moss ;  the  cannons 
have  been  taken  away,  and  in  their  stead  are  rustic  seats  around 
which  happy  children  laugh  and  play,  while  their  nurses  sit 
talking  of  their  red  coated  favorites  in  the  adjoining  barracks. 
There  is  just  now  an  air  of  peace  and  harmony,  of  war  days 
done  away  with,  that  is  only  disturbed  by  the  occasional  sight 
of  a  sentry  who  paces  his  beat  in  front  of  the  barracks.     It  is 


182 


NASBY    m    EXILE. 


peace  now,  but  the  sentry  shows  how  insecure  the  peace. 
England  must  be  always  ready  for  war.  But  standing  upon  a 
parapet,  overlooking  the  sea,  one  forgets  for  the  time  the  fact 
that  he  is  in  the  very  midst  of   that   oppressive  power,  the 


UNDER  CUFF  —  ISLE  OF  WIGHT. 


strong  arm  of  the  soldier,  and  gives  himself  up  to  kindlier 
thoughts,  brought  up  by  the  marvelous  beauties  of  the  scene 
spread  out  before  him  like  the  mystic  picture  painted  by  fairy 
hands.     The  sea,  over  which  the  last  rays  of  the  sinking  sun 


OUR    STEAMER   FRIEND    TIBBITTS.  183 

dance  and  shimmer,  is  just  rippled  with  a  light  breeze  that 
sends  the  graceful  little  yachts  skimming  merrily  over  its 
surface.  The  misty  outlines  of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  half  hidden 
by  a  delicate  purple  haze,  gradually  fade  from  sight  as  the  sun 
sinks  lower  and  lower,  and  throws  a  broad  path  of  golden 
light  along  the  bright  blue  water.  As  it  sinks  into  the  sea,  a 
great  globe  of  brilliant  red,  a  stately  ship,  with  graceful  masts 
rising  high  in  air,  cuts  the  path  of  golden  light,  and  for  an 
instant  is  clearly  outlined  against  the  glowing  orb.  Every 
mast,  every  rope,  even,  can  be  seen  clearly  and  distinctly  against 
the  beautiful  background.  For  an  instant  every  outline  is 
tinged  with  gold,  then  it  passes  slowly  on,  the  sun  sinks 
beneath  the  waves,  and  then  comes  the  soft  twilight,  when  one 
"  sinks  into  reveries  and  dreams." 

This  reverie  and  dream  business  is  all  very  well  for  awhile? 
but  it  cannot  last,  and  the  aAvakening  is  not  pleasant.  The 
good  old  town  of  Portsmouth,  with  its  historical  memories, 
the  beautiful  harbor  filled  with  so  much  that  is  interesting, 
must  be  left  for  others  to  enjoy  while  we  go  back  to  London 
and  resume  the  routine  of  sight  seeing  —  that  is,  to  draw  it 
mildly,  becoming  just  a  trifle  tiresome.  One  can  have  too 
much  of  even  London. 


On  our  return  to  London  we  met  our  old  steamer  friend, 
Tibbitts's  Lemuel,  of  Oshkosh.  He  had  been  travehng  in  the 
North  of  England,  and  tiring  of  the  smaller  cities  and  the 
country,  had  returned  to  London  to  "  do  it."  He  was  rather 
puffy  in  the  cheeks  and  rather  bleary  about  the  eyes,  which 
showed  a  season  of  not  altogether  strict  adherence  to  the 
.precepts  of  Father  Matthew.  He  was  overjoyed  at  seeing  us, 
as  men  always  are  at  seeing  anybody  of  whom  they  want 
something.     He  was  in  trouble. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Lemuel,  "  you  are  a  good  fellow,,  now, 
and  I  know  you  will  help  me  out.  You  see  I  came  over  for 
improvement  and  experience,  and  to  enlarge  my  mind,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  and  the  old  gentleman  insisted  that  I  should 
keep  a  diary,  and  note  down  my  impressions  of  scenery,  and 
industries,  and  modes  of  living,  and  all  that,  and  send  it  to 


184 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


him  regularly,  and  I  must  do  it,  or  he  will  cut  off  the  supplies, 

and  bring  me  home." 

''  Well,  that  is  easy  enough.    You  have  done  it  ?    You  have 

kept  a  diary  i  " 

'^  Yes,  a  sort  of  a  diary.     You  see  there  were  four  of  us  in 

the  party,  devilish  good  fellows,  one  from  Chicago,  and  two 

from  New  York,  and  we  went  to  a  lot  of  places,  and  saw  a 

great  deal,and 
I  wrote  in  my 
memorandum 
book  every 
day,  but  it  was 
certainly  the 
last  thing  I 
did  before  go- 
ing to  bed, 
about  four 
o'clock  in  the 
morning,  or  a 
little  later. 
What  the  old 
gentleman 
wanted  was 
not  only  an 
account  of  all 
this  rot,  but 
my  impression 
of  the  places, 
to  develop 
me.  You  un- 
derstand?" . 
''Yes;  and 

a  good  idea  it  is.     Did  you  write  down  your  impressions  of 

the  places  you  visited  ? " 

"  Well,  yes ;  but  I  am  afraid  they  won't  satisfy  father.     He 

is  mighty  particular,  and  awful  sharp." 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  your  memorandum  book  ? " 

He  handed  it  to  me,  and  these  are  some  of  the  entries,  which 

were,  no  doubt,  \vritten  at  four  in  the  morning,  the  last  thing 


THE  UNFINISHED  ENTRIES  IN  THE  DIARY. 


185 

before  getting  into  bed ;  and  they  were,  unquestionably,  his 
impressions.  I  select  a  few  at  random,  these  few  being  excel- 
lent samples  of  the  whole  lot : — 

Leeds — Manufacturing  city — Beer  very  bad — Scotch  whisky 
tolerable,  though  I  never  hked  it  cold. 

Birmingham — Manufacturing  city — Beer  bad  —  ^N'ot  equal 
to  our  lager — ]N"o  good  beer  in  England —  Stout  rather  better — 
Went  in  on  stout. 

Ma/nchester  —  Good  bottle  beer  —  Draft  beer  bad  —  All 
draft  —  (This  sentence  was  not  finished,  probably  for  reasons. 
He  explained  that  that  night  he  slept  in  his  boots.) 

Sheffield — Manufacturing  city — found  some  genuine 
American  bourbon,  and  went  for  it  —  It  was  refreshing,  as  a 
reminder  at  home  —  Don't  know  about  the  beer — There's  no 
place  like  home. 

Nottingham  —  Don't  know  what  the  people  do — a  great 
many  of  them — Beer  bad  as  usual  —  Guinness'  stout  in  bottles 
fairish  —  Wish — 

(Another  unfinished  sentence,  explained  as  before.) 

And  so  on.  I  told  Lemuel  that  it  certainly  would  not  do 
to  send  these  impressions  to  his  father,  as  evidently  he  observed 
only  one  side  of  English  life ;  that  he  had  taken  his  observa. 
tions  through  a  glass  darkly,  but  that  I  really  had  n't  the  time 
to  write  up  a  set  for  him,  especially  as  I  had  not  visited  those 
places  myself. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

Advising  him  to  procure  a  good  guide-book,  and  remain 
sober  for  a  week,  and  get  to  work,  we  parted. 

There  are  a  great  many  Lemuels  getting  similar  impressions 
of  Europe  —  a  great  many;  I  may  say  altogether  too  many. 


186 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  —  INTERIOR. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 


WESTMINSTER    ABBEY. 


Sometime  in  the  sixth  century  a  Saxon  King,  named  Sebert, 
founded  an  Abbey,  where  Westminster  now  stands.  It  is 
another  of  the  regular  show  places  of  London,  and  possibly 
the  most  interesting,  unless  it  be  the   Tower.     It  has  been 


EXTERIOR  OF  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


rebuilt  a  dozen  or  more  times,  and  is  really  the  most  beautiful 
building  in  London  of  its  class. 

The  Abbey  is  three  hundred  and  seventy-five  feet  in  length, 

(187) 


188 


XASBY    IN    EXILE. 


by  two  hundred  in  width,  and  its  height  from  the  pavement  to 
the  foot  of  the  lantern  is  one  hundred  and  forty  feet.  I  know 
this,  for  I  got  it  from  the  guide-book. 

There  is  nothing  in  England,  in  the  way  of  architecture, 

more  striking  or  grand. 
The  beautiful  is  not 
always  the  grand,  or 
the  grand  the  beauti- 
ful. Westminster  Ab- 
bey is  both.  The  old 
architects  might  not 
have  been  able  to  have 
built  the  Capitol  at 
Washington,  and  they 
certainly  could  not 
have  built  the  Court 
House  in  ]^ew  York, 
and  made  it  cost  more 
than  the  Houses  of 
Parliament,  for  they 
were  not  that  kind  of 
architects ;  they  mostly 
died  poor  and  did  not 
wear  diamonds,  but 
they  managed  to  erect 
a  building  that  is  worth 
the  passage  across  the 
Atlantic  to  see. 

On  entering  the 
Abbey  you  run  the 
gauntlet  of  a  dozen  or 
more  fellows  who  have 
the  privilege  of  selling 
guide-books.  They  will 
not  take  "  'No  I "  for  an 
answer,  but  manage 
They  are  Potiphar's  wives 
and   vou   have  to  choose 


THE  ENTRANCE  TO  THE  ABBEY. 


somehow  to  compel  the  gratuity. 

with   designs   upon  your  pockets, 

between  yielding  to  them,  like  Joseph,  or  leaving  some  portion 


SEEING  THE  ABBEY.  189 

of  your  garments  in  their  grasp.  You  always  shed  the  six- 
pence. Then  you  wander  about  through  the  magnificent 
structure,  reading  tablets  on  which  are  inscribed  the  virtues 
of  all  sorts  of  men,  till  happily  remembering  that  kings  and 
queens  were  buried  in  the  building,  you  ask  whereabouts  they 
may  be  lying.  Some  one  gives  the  information,  the  party  is 
made  up,  and  you  place  yourself  under  the  charge  of  what 
they  call  a  verger,  a  beery  old  fellow,  with  a  face  that  blazes 
hke  a  comet,  Avith  some  sort  of  a  black  gown  over  his  shoul- 
ders, who  conducts  you  to  the  gate  of  a  chapel,  at  Tvhich  stands 
another  beery  old  fellow,  with  a  like  face  and  a  similar  gown 
on  his  shoulders,  w^ho  deliberately  asks  you  for  sixpence  apiece, 
which  being  paid,  you  pass  in,  very  like  you  would  in  a  circus. 
Then  the  beery  old  fellow^  commences  in  a  sing-song,  monoto- 
nous way,  his  descriptions : — 

"  The  first  on  the  left  is  the  tomb  of  Queen  Eleanor,  who 
died  in  the  year  of  our  Lord,"  and  so  on.  He  intones  his 
service  just  about  as  those  officiating  in  the  other  services  do, 
only  he  goes  on  without  making  a  stop  or  punctuating  a 
sentence.  He  guides  you  from  one  room  to  another  without 
the  slightest  pause,  and  when  he  gets  through  he  and  the  one 
at  the  gate,  who  takes  the  money,  go  out  and  drink  beer  till 
another  party  is  formed. 

But  it  is  a  very  cheap  show,  and  I  am  under  obligations  to 
the  Church  of  England  for  the  delight.  In  fact,  it  is  a  big 
shfiling's  worth  —  for  a  drinking  man.  One  blast  from  the 
fiery  orifice  in  the  volcanic  face  of  the  verger  is  enough  to 
save  anybody  sixpence  in  beer,  and  as  for  the  book,  why  you 
have  it,  and  it  is  worth  the  money.  Thus,  you  see,  you  have 
the  show  of  the  building  and  the  dead  Kings  thrown  in.  I 
was  not  sure  that  we  should  not  have  given  the  Dean  a 
shilling  or  two,  and  I  felt  like  offering  it  to  him,  but,  unfor- 
tunately, I  was  out  of  silver. 

It  is  not  the  magnificence  and  grandeur  of  the  structure, 
or  its  sacredness  as  a  place  of  religious  worship,  that  give 
Westminster  Abbey  its  interest  to  the  average  tourist.  It  is 
the  burial  place  of  the  great  dead  of  England,  and  its  walls 
contain  the  dust  of  more  great  men  than  any  building  in  the 
world. 


190  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Of  course  I  did  not  enthuse  a  particle  over  the  tombs  of 
the  old  Kings,  those  ancient  robbers,  whose  titles  came  from 
force  and  were  perpetuated  by  fraud,  thirteen  of  whom  are 
buried  here,  and  fourteen  Queens,  commencing  with  Sebert,  the 
Saxon,  and  ending  with  George,  the  Second.  They  may  sleep 
anywhere  Avithout  exciting  a  thrill  in  me,  for  not  one  of  them 
ever  did  the  world  any  good,  or  added  one  to  the  list  of 
achievements  that  really  make  men's  names  worth  remem- 
bering. 

I  do  not  like  kings,  and  if  we  must  have  them,  I  much 
prefer  them  dead.  Safe  in  an  abbey,  they  are  not  making 
wars  upon  each  other,  and  besides,  a  dead  king  can  be  kept 
much  more  cheaply  than  a  living  one.  I  pay  sixpence  will- 
ingly to  see  where  a  dead  king  lies.  When  I  remember  that 
they  must  die,  I  always  feel  encouraged. 

But  England  has  buried  here  those  who  made  her  glory  on 
the  field,  the  wave,  and  in  the  Senate  and  closet,  and  it  is 
England's  glory  that  she  does  this.  England  has  never  let  a 
great  achievement  go  unnoted,  or  unremembered.  In  the 
floors  and  on  the  walls  of  this  great  church,  are  tablets,  com- 
memorating not  only  Generals  and  Admirals,  but  Captains  and 
Lieutenants,  who  aided  in  repulsing  the  foes  of  the  country,  or 
extending  its  possessions,  and  the  private  soldier  or  common 
sailor  receives  his  meed  of  praise,  the  same  as  his  officer. 

In  this,  England  is  wise,  as  she  is  in  most  things.  In  this 
faithful  remembrance,  the  youth  of  England  have  a  constant 
incentive  to  great  deeds  and  meritorious  acts. 

Speaking  of  monuments  and  commemorative  structures, 
how  many  has  the  United  States  ?  One  was  attempted  to  the 
memory  of  Washington,  of  the  general  form  and  style  of  a 
Scotch  claymore,  set  on  end,  hilt  downward,  and  it  was  placed 
in  the  mud,  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac,  where  it  has  been 
surely  and  certainly  sinking  these  thirty  years  at  least,  and  is 
not  yet  half  finished. 

Occasionally,  some  enterprising  woman,  who  wants  a  house, 
or  to  pay  off  a  mortgage,  or  something  of  the  kind,  organizes  a 
Washington  Monument  Association,  and  collects  money  for  the 
purpose  of  completing  it.  But  it  never  amounts  to  anything. 
The  lady  and  the  managers  collect  a  great  deal  of  money,  but. 


MONUMENTS  IN  GENERAL. 


191 


no  stones  are  added  to  the  monument,  and  there  stands,  or 
rather,  is  sinking,  a  monument,  not  to  Washington,  but  to  the 
inefficient  management  of  the  citizens  of  the  country  he  freed, 
and  their  indifference  to  the  fame  of  their  best  and  greatest 
men. 

England  does  not  do  this.  There  is  never  a  name  in 
English  history  that  is  not  carefully  preserved  in  the  Abbey, 
and  it  is  not 
permitted  t  o 
wear  out  and 
fade.  When 
time  has  med- 
dled with  it 
the  chisel  is 
brought  into 
requisition, 
and  it  is  re- 
stored. 

If  one  wishes 
to  thoroughly 
and  complete- 
ly appreciate 
the  worthless- 
ness  of  human 
reputation,  he 
should  walk 
through  these 
walls  and  over 
these  floors. 
While  the 
fame  of  the 
heroes,  poets 
and  statesmen 
have     been 

carefully  cared  for,  the  nobodies  buried  here  and  hereabouts, 
and  there  are  thousands  of  them,  have  been  permitted  to  fade 
out  mercilessly.  Sir  Toby  Belch,  we  will  say,  or  Sir  Toby 
Anybody  Else,  who  was  so  circumstanced  that  he  received  the 
honor  of  being  buried  in  the  Abbey  or  the  grounds  adjacent, 


poets'  corner  —  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


192  KASBY    IN    EXILE. 

lies  here  under  a  slab,  on  which  is  a  long  inscription.  The 
slab  is  here;  but  alas!  where  is  the  inscription?  The  iron- 
nailed  shoes  of  generations  have  as  completely  obliterated  it 
as  though  a  chisel  had  been  used  for  the  purpose. 

But  not  so  the  actually  great.  The  slab  that  covers  the 
remains  of  Dickens  has  flowers  placed  upon  it  every  day,  and 
the  inscriptions  to  the  memory  of  Shakespeare,  Byron,  Handel, 
Haydn,  Macaulay,  Sheridan,  Garrick,  Rare  Ben  Johnson,  and 
others,  who  made  English  literature,  and  the  innumerable 
warriors  by  land  and  sea  who  have  extended  English  pos- 
sessions and  defended  England's  greatness,  are  kept  as  distinct 
and  as  bright  as  the  day  they  were  erected. 

One  singular  thing  is  that  there  are  no  bad  men  buried  in 
the  Abbey ;  that  is,  if  you  may  believe  the  marble  inscriptions. 
Marble  is  a  bad  material  to  tell  lies  upon,  because  of  the 
limited  space  that  can  be  used.  Were  there  more  room  there 
would  be  more  lies,  I  suppose,  but  the  English  have  managed 
it  tolerably  well. 

There  was  Warren  Hastings,  for  instance,  Governor-Gen- 
eral of  India,  who  in  his  day  was  held  up  as  a  monster  of 
cruelty,  and  a  model  of  rapacity  and  oppression.  Even  the 
English  Parliament  and  the  East  India  Company  were  forced 
to  protest  against  his  extreme  cruelty  to  the  East  Indians. 
E'evertheless  Hastings  has  a  bust  in  the  Abbey,  and  an  inscrip- 
tion on  it,  in  which  he  is  given  every  virtue  under  the  sun. 
He  is  extolled  as  being  all  that  was  merciful,  just,  kind,  good, 
and  wise,  and  if  there  is. a  virtue  that  is  not  ascribed  to  him, 
the  man  who  wrote  it  forgot  it.  As  a  matter  of  curiosity  I 
copied  the  epitaph,  and  here  it  is:  — 

SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

THE  RIGHT  HONOEABLE  WARREN  HASTINGS, 

Governor-General  of  Bengal, 

Member  of  His  Majesty's  Most  Honorable  Privy  Council,  L.  L.  D.,  F.  B.  S. 

Descended  from  the  elder  branch  of  the  Ancient  and  Noble  Family  of 

Huntingdon. 

Selected  for  his  eminent  talents  and  integrity,  he  was  appointed  by 
Parliament,  in  1773,  the  first  Governor-General  of  India,  to  which  high 
office  he  was  thrice  re-appointed  by  the  same  authority.     Of  a  most  event- 


WAKREN    HASTINGS. 


193 


ful  period,  he  restored  the  affairs  of  the  East  India  Company  from  the 
deepest  distress  to  the  highest  prosperity,  and  rescued  their  possessions 
from  a  combination  of  the  most  powerful  enemies  ever  leagued  against 
them.  In  the  wisdom  of  his  counsels  and  the  energy  of  his  measures,  he 
found  unexhausted  resources,  and  successfully  sustained  a  long,  varied, 
and  multiplied  war  with  France,  Mysore,  and  the  Mahratta  States,  whose 
power  he  humbled,  and  concluded  an  honorable  peace;  for  which  and  for 
his  distinguished  services  he  received  the  thanks  of  the  East  India  Com- 
pany, sanctioned  by  the  Board  of  Control.  The  Kingdom  of  Bengal,  the 
seat  of  his  government,  he  ruled  with  a  mild  and  equitable  sway,  preserved 
it  from  invasion,  and  while  he  secured  to  its  inhabitants  the  enjoyment  of 
their  customs,  laws  and  religion,  and  the  blessings  of  peace,  was  rewarded 
by  their  affection  and  gratitude  ;  nor  was  he  more  distinguished  by  the 
highest  qualities  of  a  statesman  and  a  patriot,  than  by  the  exercise  of  every 
Christian  virtue.  He  lived  for  many  years  in  dignified  retirement,  beloved 
and  revered  by  all  who  knew  him,  at  his  seat  of  Daylesford,  in  the  county 
of  Worcester,  where  he  died  in  peace,  in  the  86th  year  of  his  age,  August 
23,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1818. 

Pretty  good,  this, 
for  a  man  who  was 
the  terror  of  the  East, 
and  who  was  publicly 
branded  in  Parliament 
as  the  most  audacious, 
corrupt  and  cruel 
tyrant  that  ever  seized 
anything  that  armed 
force  could  lay  its 
hands  upon.  But  as 
England  reaped  the 
benefit  of  a  portion,  at 
least,  of  his  wicked- 
ness. England  manu- 
factures a  record  for 
him  and  permits  it  to 
stand  among  its  other 
heroes,  for  the  admira- 
tion of  future  genera- 
tions. 

I  can  imagine  the 

ghost  of  Hastings,  as 

he   hovers   over   this 

tablet  and  reads  it.      He   must   have   smiled   a   spirit   smile. 

However,  it  is  probably  as  correct  as  other  history,  marble  or 

13 


HENRY  VII. 'S  CHAPEL— WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


194  NASBY    m    EXILE. 

written  upon  paper.  The  inhabitants  of  the  other  world  must 
be  amused  as  they  read  what  is  said  of  them  in  this.  A  great 
many  of  them  must  feel  as  the  horse  thief  did  when  he  wept 
after  the  speech  of  his  counsel  in  his  defense. 

''  What  are  you  sobbing  so  for?"  asked  the  counsel. 
"I  never   knew  before  what  a  good  man  I  am,"  was  the 
reply. 

There  are  hundreds  buried  in  the  Abbey  who  have  no 
especial  claim  to  the  honor,  that  is  so  far  as  to  deeds  that 
survive  the  ages  gone.  They  enjoyed  what  we  of  to-day 
would  term  a  mere  local  reputation,  and  all  that  remains  of 
them  is  what  the  marble  says.  The  inscriptions  are  all  in  the 
same  strain,  and  are  curious  specimens  of  obituary  literature. 
For  instance  this :  — 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

JAMES  BARTLEMAN, 

formerly  a  chorister  and  lay  clerk  of  Westminster  Abbey^ 
and  Gentleman  of  His  Majesty's  Royal  ChapeL 

Educated  by  Dr.  Cooke, 

He  caught  all  the  taste  and  science  of  that  great  master. 

Which  he  augmented  and  adorned. 

With  the  peculiar  powers  of  his  native  genius, 

He  possessed  qualities  which  are  seldom  united  ; 

A  lively  enthusiasm,  with  an  exact  judgment, 

And  exhibited  a  perfect  model 

Of  a  correct  style  and  a  commanding  voice; 

Simple  and  powerful,  tender  and  dignified  ; 

Solemn,  chaste  and  purely  English. 

His  social  and  domestic  virtues 

Corresponded  with  these  rare  endowments  ; 

Affectionate  and  liberal,  sincere  and  open-hearted, 

He  was  not  less  beloved  by  his  family  and  friends, 

Than  admired  by  all  for  his  pre-eminence 

In  his  profession. 

He  was  born  19  Septr.  1769.      Died  15  April,  1821. 

And  was  buried  in  this  cloister, 

Near  his  Beloved  Master. 

"  Solemn,  chaste  and  purely  English  "  is  very  good.  What 
could  Mr.  Bartleman  ask  more  ? 


EPITAPHS.  195 

On  the  monument  of  Admiral  Sir  Wondesley  Shovel  the 
inscription  reads  : — 

' '  He  was  deservedly  beloved  by  his  country,  and  esteemed,  though 
dreaded,  by  the  enemy,  who  had  often  experienced  his  conduct  and 
courage.  Being  shipwrecked  on  the  rocks  of  Scilly,  in  his  voyage  from 
Toulon,  Oct.  23,  1707,  at  night,  in  the  57th  year  of  his  age,  his  fate  was 
lamented  by  all,  but  especially  by  the  seafaring  part  of  the  nation,  to  whom 
he  was  a  generous  patron  and  a  worthy  example.  His  body  was  flung  on 
the  shore,  and  buried  with  others  on  the  sand  ;  but  being  soon  after  taken 
up,  was  placed  under  this  monument,  which  his  royal  mistress  had  caused 
to  be  erected  to  commemorate  his  steady  loyalty  and  extraordinary  virtues." 

Mr.  William  Lawrence,  who  was  a  prebendary,  gets  this 
poetical  effusion  : — 

With  dilligence  and  trust  most  exemplary 
Did  William  Lawrence  serve  a  prebendary, 
And  for  his  paines  now  past  before  not  lost 
Gained  this  remembrance  at  liis  Master's  cost. 
O  read  these  lines  again:  you  seldom  finde 
A  servant  faithful  to  a  master  Jiind. 
Shoi-t  hand  he  wrote,  his  flowre  in  prime  did  fade 
And  hasty  death  short  hand  of  him  hath  made. 
Well  couth  he  numbers,  and  well  measured  land, 
•     Thus  doth  he  now  that  ground  whereon  you  stand, 
Wherein  he  lies  so  geometrical ; 
Art  maketh  some,  but  this  will  nature  all." 

Obit  Dec.  23, 1621. 

JEstatus  bud  29. 

As  a  specimen  of  old  English,  this  can  hardly  be  excelled  : — 

Ander  neath  Lyeth 

The  Bodyes  of  3  sonns 

of  Mr.  Christopher  Chapman, 

Richard  Christopher  and 

Peter  Peter  dyed  the  11th 

of  September,  1673. 
Richard  dyed  the  1th  of 

February,  1672,  and 

Christopher  Chapman, 

M.  of  Artes,  dyed  the  25 

of  March,  1675. 

The  next  is  a  memorial  to  an  authoress,  who  was  the  most 
popular  of  her  day,  and  whose  pieces  were  the  delight  of 


196  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

London.     To-day,  she  is  only  remembered  by  book-worms  and 
antiquaries : — 

MRS.  APHRA  BEHN, 

Dyed  April  16, 
A.  D.  1689. 
Here  lies  a  proof  that  Wit  can  never  be 
Defence  enough  against  Mortality. 

This  lady  was  the  authoress  of  many  dramatic  pieces  — 
all  as  dead  as  their  author. 

The  "Wesley  family  are  represented  in  this : — 

NUTTY,  SUSANNA, 

URSULA,  SAMUEL, 

WESLEY. 

1725,     1726,     1727,     1731. 

Infant  children  of 

Samuel  Wesley, 

Brother  of  John  Wesley. 

The  British  merchant  was  honored,  as  well  as  the  British 
soldier : — 

SACRED  TO   THE  MEMORY  OP 

JONAS  HANWAY, 

who  departed  this  life  September  5,  1786,  aged  74, 

but  whose  name  liveth,  and  will  ever  live, 

whilst  active  Piety  shall  distinguish 

The  Christian. 
Integrity  and  Truth  shall  recommend 
The  British  Merchant. 
And  universal  Kindness  shall  characterize 
The  Citizen  of  the  World. 
The  helpless  Infant  natur'd  thro'  his  care: 
The  friendless  Prostitute  sheltered  and  reformed; 
The  hopeless  Youth  rescu'd  from  Misery  and  Rum, 
And  trained  to  serve  and  to  defend  his  country, 
Uniting  in  one  common  strain  of  gratitude. 
Bear  testimony  to  their  Benefactors'  virtues — 
This  was  the  Friend  and  Father  of  the  Poor. 

The  wandering  about  among  the  tombs  of  so  many  illustri- 
ous dead,  and  the  reading  of  so  many  fulsome  epitaphs  —  albeit 
I  know  they  were  not  altogether  deserved — produced  an 
impression,  a  feeling  of  solemnity,  that  no  other  one  place  in 
all  England  could  conjure  up.     It  was  in  vain  that  Tibbitts 


KELIGIOUS    SERVICES.  197 

tried  to  make  fun  out  of  some  of  the  quaint  inscriptions.  It 
could  not  be  done,  and  in  a  very  short  time  the  youth  suc- 
cumbed to  the  influence  of  the  mighty  memory,  and  became  a 
subdued  and  quiet  admirer  of  the  solemn  grandeur  of  the  place. 


CHAPEL  OF  EDWARD,   THE  CONFESSOR. 


Three  is  the  hour  that  religious  services  are  held  in  the 
large  nave.  More  out  of  curiosity,  perhaps,  than  anything  else, 
we  determined  to  remain  during  the  service.  As  we  sat  there 
looking  over  into  the  Poets'  Corner,  the  deep  silence  of  the 
majestic  building,  growing  more  and  more  profound,  there 
came  trooping  through  the  mind  constantly  changing  pictures 


198  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

suggested  by  the  memories  awakened  by  the  vivid  recollections 
of  the  once  great  in  literature  and  art,  science  and  warfare, 
who  are  still  alive  in  the  hearts  of  all  EngUsh-speaking  people, 
although  their  bodies  have  been  lying  for  years  beneath  the 
massive  pillars  and  superb  arches  of  Westminster. 

As  the  eye  wanders  upwards  along  the  walls,  covered  with 
tablets  and  rare  pieces  of  sculpture,  and  seeks  to  unravel  the 
intricacies  of  the  fretted  roof,  just  discernible  through  the 
dim  light,  the  great  organ  peals  forth  the  wondrous  strains  of 
the  Processional. 

At  that  instant,  as  though  to  lend  a  new  and  greater 
impressiveness  to  the  scene,  the  clouds,  which  had  been  lower- 
ing all  the  afternoon,  suddenly  breaking  with  a  glorious  burst 
of  sunshine,  that  comes  streaming  in  through  the  tall,  graceful 
windows,  beautiful  with  their  colored  designs,  lights  up  the 
Abbey  even  to  its  darkest  recess  with  a  light,  soft,  and  mellow, 
which  only  intensifies  the  mvstic  feeling  of  reverence  and  joy 
combined.  And  then  the  boy  choristers,  with  their  fresh, 
innocent  faces,  sing  in  wondrous  tones  the  Gregorian  chant. 
Nothing  more  is  needed;  everything  is  complete.  You  are 
lost  in  a  rapturous  reverie,  the  mind  is  cleansed  of  all  things 
earthly,  and  wanders  unchecked  and  unfettered  through  the 
boundless  realms  of  purity.  One  sits  almost  entranced ;  his 
very  being  filled  with  the  wondrous  power  of  the  place. 
Gradually  it  dawns  upon  him  that  there  is  a  discord  some- 
where, that  something  has  occurred  to  mar  the  perfection  of 
the  whole.  For  an  instant  he  rebels  against  the  thought,  and 
strives  to  believe  that  he  still  dreams.  But  the  inspiration  has 
fled.  The  music,  which  a  moment  before  caused  the  tears  to 
fill  his  eyes,  has  lost  itself  in  the  far-away  cornices  of  the  high 
columns,  and  in  its  stead  there  is  the  dull,  monotonous  chant- 
ing of  a  priest,  who  is  intoning  the  service  in  a  tired  sort  of 
way,  as  though  he  thought  that,  having  done  the  same  thing 
every  afternoon  for  forty  years,  it  was  time  for  him  to  retire 
upon  a  pension,  and  enjoy  the  quiet  of  a  pleasant  home,  where 
there  was  no  absolute  necessity  of  going  through  the  ritual 
every  afternoon  at  three  o'clock. 

The  awakening  was  not  a  pleasant  one,  and  so  we  left  the 
Abbey,  disappointed,  as  though  we  had  been  given  the  promise 


HOW   THE   SERVICE   IS    DONE.  199 

of  gomething'  wonderful  and  then  been  denied  it.  The  service, 
no  matter  how  beautiful  in  and  of  itself,  is  not  in  keeping  with 
the  grandeur  of  the  place.  There  is  lacking,  to  an  American, 
that  sense  of  power  and  majesty  in  it  that  the  massive  building, 
glorying  in  its  wondrous  architectural  beauties,  demands.  The 
clergymen  had  an  aimlessness  that  w^as  simply  tiresome,  and 
as  they  drawled  out  the  words,  it  seemed  as  though  they  did 
not  care  "whether  it  produced  an  effect  upon  the  worshippers  or 
not.  But  it  did  produce  an  effect.  Not  the  one  to  be  desired, 
perhaps,  but  an  effect  after  all,  for  the  greater  number  of  them 
quietly  left  the  place,  and  reached  the  open  air  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  as  if  they  had  escaped  from  some  very  depressing, 
dispiriting  place. 

In  America  religion  and  religious  services  mean  something 
more  than  form,  and  the  ministers,  no  matter  of  what  denomi 
nation,  or  in  what  sort  of  a  building,  throw  something  of  life 
and  fervor  into  their  services.  They  act  and  talk  as  though 
they  had  souls  to  save,  and  that  the  responsibility  of  the  souls 
of  their  congregations  were  upon  them.  This  was  not  of  that 
kind.  The  priests  went  through  the  service  as  though,  having 
offered  the  bread  of  life  to  their  people,  it  was  for  them  to  take 
it  or  let  it  alone,  as  they  chose.  Indeed,  when  one  was  a  little 
slow,  as  though  he  had  been  up  the  night  before,  the  other 
would  look  at  him  reproachfully,  as  if  to  say, "  Look  here ;  why 
don't  you  hurry  up  and  get  through  with  this,  and  let  us  get 
home.  I  don't  want  my  dinner  to  spoil,"  and  the  boys  in  the 
choir,  though  they  sang  like  angels,  did  it,  not  as  if  they  knew 
or  cared  an3rthing  about  it,  but  as  a  mere  matter  of  business, 
looking  from  one  to  another,  and  then  upon  the  congregation. 
"Whatever  the  effect  upon  the  people,  their  beautiful  music  had 
no  more  effect  upon  them  than  as  if  they  had  been  so  many 
oysters. 

These  people  would  not  do  for  a  Western  camp-meeting,  or 
€ven  for  a  fashionable  revival  in  an  Eastern  church.  But  they 
have  their  uses. 

One  room  in  the  Abbey  is  devoted  to  the  effigies  in  wax  of 
seven  Kings  and  Queens,  but  few  people  visit  it.  They  can  see 
a  more  extensive  collection  of  murderers  at  Madam  Tussaud's 
for  the  same  money,  and  they  go  there 


200 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


The  cloisters,  as  they  are  called,  form  a  not  uninteresting 
portion  of  the  Abbey,  they  being  the  former  places  of  resi- 
dence of  the  monks  of  the  establishment.  In  the  various 
walks,  with   their  quaintly  carved   pillars,  and   moss-covered 


EFFIGY  ROOM  —  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 

arches,   are   buried   many   distinguished   personages,  most   of 
whom  belonged  to  the  Abbey » 

Another  point  of  interest  is  the  "  Chapter  House,"  a  circular 
room,  of  large  dimensions,  which  was  built  in  1250  by  Henry 
III.,  on  the  site  of  the  earlier  Chapter  House  belonging  to  the 
Abbey,  founded  by  Edward  the  Confessor.  It  was  tho  cham- 
ber in  which  the  abbot  and  monks,  in  the  time  of  the  ancient 
monastery  held  their  "  Chapter,"  or  meeting  for  discussion  and 
business.  The  stone  seats  upon  which  the  abbot  and  the 
monks  sat  are  still  preserved. 


A   LITTLE   HISTORY. 


201 


In  1265,  when  the  House  of  Commons  came  into  existence, 
it  first  sat  in  Westminster  Hall  with  the  House  of  Lords ;  but 
the  two  bodies  having  parted,  the  Commons  held  its  meetings 


THE  ABBEY  IN  QUEEN  ANNE  S  TIME. 


in  the  Chapter  House  for  nearly  three  hundred  years.  The 
last  Parliament  known  to  have  sat  here  was  that  which  assem- 
bled on  the  last  day  of  the  reign  of  King  Henry  YIII.     After 


202  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

that  the  House  passed  into  the  possession  of  the  Crown,  and 
from  154Y,  when,  the  House  of  Commons  was  transferred  to 
Westminster  Palace,  until  1863,  it  was  used  as  the  depository 
of  public  records,  and  was  very  much  disfigured.  In  1865  its 
restoration  was  begun,  and  it  now  presents  the  same  appear- 
ance it  did  in  years  gone  by,  save  where  the  linger  of  Father 
Time  has  been  laid  rather  heavily  upon  its  once  fair  paintings 
and  graceful  proportions. 

It  does  not  appear  that  the  nave  and  cloisters,  though  the 
last  resting  places  of  so  many  eminent  persons,  were  treated 
with  due  respect  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne.  At  all  events, 
the  following  occurs  in  the  Acts  of  the  Dean  and  Chapter, 
under  date  of  May  6, 1710. 

'*  Whereas,  several  butchers  and  other  persons  have  of  late,  especially  on 
market  days,  earned  meat  and  other  burdens  through  the  church,  and  that 
in  time  of  Divine  service,  to  the  great  scandal  and  offence  of  all  sober- 
minded  persons;  and,  whereas,  divers  disorderly  beggars  are  daily  walking 
and  begging  in  the  Abbey  and  cloisters,  and  do  fill  the  same  with  nastiness, 
whereby  great  offense  is  caused  to  all  persons  going  through  the  church 
and  cloisters  ;  and,  whereas  many  idle  boys  como  into  the  cloister  daily, 
and  there  play  at  cards  and  other  games,  for  money,  and  are  often  heard 
to  curse  and  swear,  Charles  Baldwin  is  appointed  beadel  to  restrain  this, 
and  to  complain  of  offenders,  if  necessary,  to  a  justice  of  the  peace." 

The  Abbey  is  the  especial  pride  of  England,  and  well  it 
may  be.  It  is  a  delight  in  and  of  itself,  and  would  be  were  it 
empty.  But  filled,  as  it  is,  with  the  enduring  monuments  of 
its  glory,  it  possesses  a  double  interest.  Every  American  visits 
it,  and  every  American  should,  for  those  who  built  it  and  those 
who  sleep  under  its  wonderful  roof,  are  of  the  same  blood 
and  kin.  America  shares  in  England's  glory,  if  not  in  her 
shame.  But  then,  we  have  some  sins  to  answer  for,  and  an 
Englishman  may  not  blush  in  the  presence  of  his  cousin  across 
the  water. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

SOME  ACCOrNT  OF  AN  AMEBIC  AN   SHOWMAN,  WITH  A  LITTLE   INSIGHT 
INTO  THE  SHOW  BUSINESS. 

Eight  in  the  heart  of  London — if  London  may  be  said  to 
have  any  heart — is  a  tavern  kept  by  an  American,  which  is 
the  headquarters  of  American  "professionals,"  as  showmen 
delight  to  call  themselves.  You  can  never  go  there  without 
meeting  managers,  nigger  minstrels,  song-and-dance-men,  unap- 
preciated actors,  and  all  sorts  of  people  who  prefer  living  from 
hand  to  mouth  and  wearing  no  shirts,  in  this  way,  than  to 
making  a  fortune  in  any  regular  business.  I  go  there  frequently 
from  sheer  loneUness,  and  to  hear  the  kindly  American  language 
spoken ;  and,  besides,  a  man  alone  is  generally  in  bad  company, 
for  the  heart  of  man  is  deceitful  and  desperately  wicked.  Any 
company  that  is  fair  to  middling  is  better  than  none  at  all. 
Even  a  hostler  can  tell  you  something  you  don't  know.  You 
may  excel  him  in  the  philosophy  of  finance,  but  when  it  comes 
to  horses  you  are  nowhere. 

I  met  one  circus  manager  who  is  over  here,  as  he  expressed 
it,  to  "  secure  talent,"  and  he  proved  a  delight.  He  was  short 
and  very  thick,  and  wore  a  sack  coat,  of  rough  material,  and  a 
little  mastiff  followed  him  about  constantly.  His  hat  and 
necktie  were  something  too  utterly  gorgeous  for  description, 
his  face  was  of  a  peculiarly  puffy  purple,  and  his  nose  blazed 
like  a  comet.  And  he  would  sit  and  talk  of  his  business  by  the 
hour,  keeping  before  him  all  the  time  a  glass  of  British  brandy 
and  water,  which  he  pronounced  "goodish."  You  could  be 
sure  he  was  a  showman  as  far  as  you  could  see  him.  My  first 
interview  with  him  was  something  like  this  : — 

"  I  shall  have  the  biggest  list  of  genooine  attractions  that 
ever  was  taken  across  the  Atlantic,  and  if  I  don't  astonish  the 
showmen  of   our  great  country,  as  well  as  the  people,  I'm  a 

(2(18) 


204 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


sinner.  I  have  got  a  baby  elephant,  and  a  genooine  Babulus, 
capchered  by  Stanley  in  the  interior  of  Africa,  at  a  great  loss 
of  life,  and  I  am  after  a  performer  sich  as  the  world  never 
seen.  She  does  an  act  on  the  trapeze  that  is  so  risky,  that 
sooner  or  later  she  must  be  killed.  There  ain't  any  doubt 
about  it.  I  have  seen  her.  She  runs  up  a  rope  like  a  squirrel, 
and  jumps  from  a  horizontal  bar,  twenty  feet,  catching  hold  of 


IF  SHE  EVER  MISCALCULATES  BY  A  HAIR'S  BREADTH,  SHE'S  A  GONER,  SURE. 

her  pardner's  hands,  and  then  plunges  down  from  his  body 
head-fust,  at  the  frightful  altitood  of  seventy  feet,  catchin'  a 
rope  twenty  feet  from  the  ground.  If  the  lights  are  ever  wrong 
by  a  half  inch,  or  if  she  ever  miscalculates  a  hair's  breadth,  she 
is  a  goner,  sure." 

And  the  enthusiastic  old  gentleman  rubbed  his  hands  in 
glee,  as  though  the  death  of*  a  performer  was  a  consummation 
most  devoutly  to  be  wished. 


THE    TRAPEZE    ARTIST.  205 

"Do people  enjoy  such  perilous  feats?" 

"  Enjoy  em !  Enjoy  em !  Why,  bless  your  innocent  soul,  a 
feat  ain't  nothin' —  won't  dror  a  cent  onless  it's  morally  certain 
that  the  performer  will  break  his  neck.  This  woman  I'm  after 
draws  crowds  every  niglit,  because  she  must  kill  herself.  The 
trick  is  so  dangerous  that  men  make  bets  eyery  night  she  will 
miss  her  lucky,  and  be  carried  out  a  corpse.  I'm  a  goin'  to 
haye  that  woman,  no  matter  what  the  salary  is.  She  does  this 
trapeze  act,  and  then  goes  on  in  the  first  part  of  the  minstrel 
entertainment  after  the  big  show^.  Oh,  she's  got  talent  into  her." 

"  But  if  the  performance  is  so  hazardous,  and  she  should  be 
killed,  w^ould  it  not  entail  a  heavy  loss  upon  you  ? " 

"  Killed !  Loss !  Where  was  you  born  ?  My  child,  there 
never  was  a  feat  so  dangerous  that  there  ain't  a  thousand 
waitin'  to  attempt  it,  and  they'll  do  it.  When  Mamselle  Zhou- 
bert  gits  killed,  as  she  will,  I'll  hev  to  hold  a  lev-vee  to  decide 
atwixt  the  dozen  who  will  want  to  take  her  place.  I'U 
select  one  of  'em,  give  her  a  French  name  —  yoo  can't  get  on 
in  the  perfesh  with  a  English  name  —  and  she'll  go  on  and  do 
it,  and  do  it  jist  as  well.  And  then  wat  an  advertisement  it  is ! 
This  will  be  about  the  size  of  it : — 

"The  management  begs  to  state  that  since  the  untimely  death  of 
Mademoiselle  Zhoubert,  at  Cincinnati,  it  was  doubtful  if  another  lady  compe- 
tent to  fill  her  place  could  be  found.  The  feat  was  so  difficult,  so  dangerous, 
and  required  such  arduous  training  and  such  wonderful  nerve,  that  it  was 
feared  that  this  leading  attraction  of  the  World's  Aggregation  would  have 
to  be  omiitted.  There  was  only  one  other  such  artiste  in  the  world  — 
Mademoiselle  Blanche,  but  she  was  engaged  at  the  Cirque  Imperial,  Paris. 
The  management  knows  no  such  word  as  fail,  and  a  commissioner  was 
dispatched  at  once  to  Paris,  with  unlimited  powers  to  treat  for  this  stellar 
attraction,  this  acme  of  talent.  At  an  expense  which  would  bankrupt  any 
other  establishment,  conducted  by  narrow-minded  managers  who  adver- 
tise more  and  perform  less,  she  was  secured  and  is  now  with  us.  Mademoi- 
selle Blanche  not  only  performs  the  original  feat  of  the  sincerely  mourned 
Zhoubert,  but  adds  to  it  one  so  much  more  dangerous  as  to  make  hers 
seem  insignificant  and  commonplace.  Mademoiselle  Blanche  will  appear  at 
each  and  every  performance,  all  reports  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding." 

^'  That'll  fetch  'em." 

"  Dangerous  feats !  why,  I  run  a  whole  season  on  a  lion  that 
had  once  eaten  a  keeper.  The  people  come  in  crowds,  expect- 
ing every  day  to  see  him  make  a  breakfast  of  his  trainer." 

"  Was  he  actually  dangerous  ? " 


206 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


"  Dangerous !  He  et  another  trainer,  and  then  I  lost  him. 
His  widder  was  actilly  in  love  with  her  husband,  and  she  swore 
the  animal  shood  be  killed,  and  the  people  sided  with  her,  and 
as  the  broot  was  gettin'  old,  and  the  killin'  made  a  sensation, 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  TRAINER. 

I  did  it.  But  I  made  all  there  was  out  of  it.  I  insisted  that  the 
husband  should  have  a  gorgeous  funeral.  The  woman  kicked 
at  the  idea  of  a  funeral,  for  she  sed  there  was  nothing  to 
berry,  as  the  lion  had  eaten  her  husband.  But  ain't  the  dear 
departed  inside  the  lion?  If  we  berry  the  lion,  don't  we  berry 
the  dear  deceast  ?  Cert.  And  we  hed  it,  and  it  was  gorgeous 
We  hed  a  percession,  with  all  our  wagons  in  it  —  the  regelar 
street  parade — only  all  the  riders  hed  black  scarfs  on  'em,  and 
the  wagons  and  bosses  and  elephants  and  sich  was  draped  in 
black  (mourning  goods  is  cheap,),  and  the  band  played  a  dead 


THE   TRAINER  S    WIDOW. 


207 


march.     The  widder  was  in  an  open  carriage,  in  full  mournin' 
with  a  white  handkerchief,  with  a  black  border,  to  her  eyes 


THE  GORGEOUS  FUNERAL  PROCESSION. 

lookin'  on  his  minatoor.  There  wasn't  no  minatoor,  but  she 
held  a  case  jist  the  same.  That  nite  the  canvass  coodeht  hold 
the  people,  and  we  run  on  that  two  weeks  to  splendid  biz.  In 
two  weeks,  the  woman  got  over  her  grief  and  went  into  the 
lion  trainin'  line  herself,  ez  ^Senorita  Aguardiente,  the  Lion 
Queen.'  I  give  her  some  old  lions  to  practis  on,  and  in  less  than 
a  month  she  could  do  jest  as  well  as  the  old  man.  She  was  a 
good  woman,  too.  She  rid  in  the  grand  entree,  and  rid  in  the 
*  Halt  in  the  Desert,'  did  the  bar'l  act,  rid  a  good  pad  act,  and 
is  now  practisin'  bare-back.  She  juggles  tollable,  and  does  a 
society  sketch  song  and  dance  in  a  side-show.  When  I  git 
talent  I  pay  it  and  keep  it.  My  treasurer  changes  the  names 
of  my  people  every  season,  so  as  to  have  always  fresh  attrac- 
tions. Oh,  I  know  my  biz.  But  that  wuzn't  all  I  made  out  uv 
that  afflictin'  event.  I  went  and  hed  a  moniment  made  and 
sot  up  over  his  grave.     This  is  the  vig.,  inscription  and  all : 


208 


NASBY    I:N    exile. 


FOGGARTY    THE    ZULU.  209 

« 

And  on  the  back  uv  the  monument,  I  had  this : — 

"  His  sorrowing  widow  still  does  her  unapproachable  act  of  Equitation 
and  Prestidigitation  J  in  the  Great  International  Aggregation,  with  which 
her  devoured  husband  was  so  long  connected,  and  may  be  seen  at  each 
and  every  exhibition. 

"  While  mourning  the  loss  of  our  friend,  the  Great  Aggregation  travels 
as  usual,  and  exhibits  without  regard  to  weather,  twice  each  day.  Lion 
Kings  may  die,  but  the  Great  International  Aggregation  is  immortal." 

"The  widder  insisted  on  hevin  a  Scriptural  quotashen  on 
the  moniment,  and  it  took  me  a  good  while  lookin  up  suthin 
approprit.  I  know  more  about  circus  than  I  do  about  Bible, 
but  when  I  set  out  to  do  a  thing  I  do  it.  Ez  the  two  hed  lived 
together  and  died  together,  ez  the  hon  et  him  for  cert,  it  struck 
me  that  this  wuz  about  the  racket,  and  I  put  it  on  the  base :  — • 

They  were  lovely  and  pleasant  in  their  lives,  and  in  death  they  were  not 
divided.—  2d  Sam.  1 :  23. 

"I  had  the  monument  did  in  galvanized  iron,  and  it  will 
stand  there  for  forty  years,  and  every  visitor  to  that  cemetery 
will  know  suthin  about  the  Great  International.  I  wrote  it 
modest,  for  I  did  n't  want  it  to  look  too  much  like  an  adver- 
tisement, though^  of  course,  I  wanted  to  get  all  I  could  out  of 
the  aiflictin  event." 

Ordering  another  brandy  cold,  the  pleasant  old  gentleman 
murmured  more  reminiscences.  He  had  always  had  a  penchant 
for  wild  Indian  troupes,  and,  since  the  Zulu  war,  for  Zulus,  and 
he  flowed  on  about  them : — 

"  Foggarty,"  said  he,  "  was  the  best  Zulu  I  ever  had,  and  I 
have  had  a  hundred  of  'em.  He  laid  over  the  lot.  He  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  and  did  the  bizniss  conscientiously. 
When  he  came  outside  with  a  iron  girdle  about  him,  and  a 
pizen  spear,  he  lept  in  dead  earnest,  he  did.  He  made  it 
mighty  lively  for  the  keeper  to  hold  him,  and  he  howled  so 
like  a  savage  that  he  skeered  the  wimin  and  gals  to  a  degree 
that  they  could  n't  help  goin'  in  to  see  him.  Foggarty  was  a 
great  man,  and  hed  talent.  He  was  the  best  Modoc  Chief  I  ever 
had.  O'Finnegan  cood  lay  over  him  on  the  green  corn  dance? 
and  possibly  drest  the  best,  but  Foggarty' s  war-whoop  was 
suthin'  subhme.  We  hed  him  one  season  as  Scar-Faced  Charley, ' 
and  the  next  as  Shack-Nasty  Jim,  and  he  did  himself  proud  in. 
14 


210 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


both.  And  then,  there  wan't  no  dam  nonsense  about  him.  He 
wood  peel  out  of  his  Injun  clothes,  and  go  and  clean  the  lamps, 
and  help  pack,  or  do  anything.     Before  the  doors  opened,  he'd 


THE  SIDE-SHOW  ZULU. 


do  canvasman,  and  howl  at  the  door,  and  at  the  door  he'd  play 
the  bass  drum  or  grind  the  organ  with  cheerfulness.  In  the 
street  parade  of  the  big  show,  he  was,  for  five  years,  our 


FOGG  Arty's  misfortune.  211 

Washington,  The  Father  of  his  Country,  standing  on  a  revolvin' 
pedestal.  Then,  jist  as  soon  as  he  got  his  dinner,  he'd  help  get 
up  the  canvas,  and  then  skin  into  the  Zulu  rig,  and  after  that, 
he'd  peddle  lemonade,  or  do  anything  to  make  himself  yooseful. 
But  a  woman  spiled  him.  Wimin  spile  a  great  man}^  good 
men.  We  hed  a  woman,  Biddy  McCarty,  wich  was  doin'  the 
Circassian  lady,  with  hair  to  her  heels,  you  know  'em,  and 
sometimes  the  bearded  lady.  Likewise,  she  w^as  a  Chinese 
knife  thrower,  and  Foggarty  yoosed  to  do  the  Chinaman  she 
throwed  her  knives  at.  Well,  Foggarty,  seein'  that  she  was 
an  Irish  gal,  and  he  an  Irishman,  coodent  no  more  help  fallin' 
in  love  with  her  than  fire  kin  help  burnin'  tow.  He  got  it  into 
his  head  that  ef  he  could  marry  a  gal  with  so  much  talent,  he 
might,  some  day,  have  a  side-show  of  his  own.  And  then,  as 
time  rolled  on,  and  they  hed  kids,  he  cood  train  'em  up  to  the 
family  business,  and  do  things  cheap.  He  wanted  to  be  a  Bearded 
family,  or  a  Zulu  family,  or  a  Jap  family,  or  suthin,  and  so  he  mar- 
ried Biddy,  and  they  went  double.  Biddy  hed  a  will  of  her  own, 
and  besides  she  would  git  drunk.  Kum  spiles  more  talent  in  the 
perfesh  than  anything  else.  She  had  a  trick  of  beating  Fog- 
garty, and  she  led  him  the  devil's  own  life.  It  was  at  Leroy,  l^ew 
York.  She  had  bin  on  as  the  Bearded  Woman,  and  as  the 
Circassian  Lady,  and  hed  sold  all  the  photographs  she  cood^ 
and  hed  changed  to  go  on  as  the  Chinese  Knife  Thrower, 
from  Hang  Fo.  Foggarty  hed  changed  to  a  Chinaman  —  Lu 
Fu,  the  Wizard  —  when  I  diskivered  that  Biddy  hed  bin 
drinkin'.  I  warned  Foggarty  to  look  out,  for  she  was  ugly, 
but  he  laughed,  and  said  she  wouldn't  hurt  him,  and  went 
on.  You  hev  seen  that  act.  Foggarty  stands  agin  a  board 
with  his  arms  spread  out,  and  the  China  woman  throws  knives 
all  around  him.  She  puts  'em  between  his  fingers,  and  clost 
to  his  neck  and  between  his  legs.  Biddy  could  throw  a 
knife  within  a  hair  of  where  she  wanted  it  to  go.  She  hed 
talent,  as  I  sed.  But  that  day  she  was  ugly.  She  and 
Foggarty  hed  hed  it  hot,  and  when  she  came  in  twistin'  her 
queue,  I  knowd  suthin  was  goin'  to  happen.  She  throwd 
six  or  eight  knives  all  right,  and  then  one  went,  whiz !  It 
took  off  Foggarty's  second  finger  on  his  right  hand,  as  clean 
as  a  butcher's  cleaver  could  do  it.  And  Biddy  fired  the  rest 
of  the  knives  at  him  and  rushed  out,  yellin', '  Be  gorra,  Mike 


212 


NASBY    IX     KXILK. 


Foggarty,  and  ye'll  bate  me  over  the  head  with  a  tent  pin 
agin,  will  ye  ?  Ye'll  hev  one  finger  less  to  do  it  wid,  onyhow.' 
Most  men  would  hev  abandoned  the  perfesh  with  that  finger 
off,  but  while  it  was  bein'  dressed  Mike  Avhispered  to  me, 
*Put  it  on  the  bills  that  the  Zulu  Chief  lost  the  finger 
by  a  English  saber,  at  the  battle  of  —  where  was  the  battle  V 
I  hev  Foggarty  yet,  but  Biddy  broke  his  heart  and  he  aint 
as  good  as  he  was.  She  run  away  with  the  cannibal  from  the 
Friendly  Islands,  who  cood  do  the  tight-rope  and  fire-eatin', 
and  they  are  doin'  hall  shows  and  the  variety  business  together. 


THE  LOST  FINGER. 

He  taught  her  to  do  a  song  and  dance,  as  well  as  fire-eatin', 
and  she  is  now  'M'lle  Lulu  Delmayne.'  They  do  society 
sketches,  too.  Foggarty  is  jest  as  willin'  as  ever,  but  the  blow 
was  too  much  for  him.  He  goes  Avith  us  next  season  as  a  Zulu, 
and  also  lecters  the  sacred  Burmese  cattle,  and  has  a  part  in 
the  wild  perarie  scene,  and  fires  the  calliope.  He  can't  do 
Washington  any  more,  for  he  has  rheumatiz,  and  can't  stand 
an  hour  with  his  right  hand  in  a  military  coat.  He's  practisin' 
to  be  a  lion  tamer,  but  I  don't  bleeve  it'll  do.  He  may  git  to 
play  the  snake,  but  that  is  about  as  high  as  he'll  ever  git  in  the 
perfesh." 

The  next  day  the  old  gentleman  departed  for  the  continent. 


CHAPTER  XY. 


RICHMOND. 


Four  weeks  in  London !  Twenty-eight  days  of  incessant 
sight-seeing.  A  series  of  continual  surprises  day  after  day, 
from  early  in  the  morning  until  late  at  night;  a  constant  suc- 
cession of  new  things  of  interest  crowded  and  forced  upon  one, 
until  at  length  the  senses  weary,  the  mind  refuses  to  take  in 
any  more,  and  imperatively  cries  out  for  a  change,  for  rest. 
The  body  is  exhausted.  The  dull,  dense  atmosphere  is  enerva- 
ting. A  night's  sleep  gives  no  refreshment.  One  rises  in  the 
morning  by  sheer  force  of  will  power,  with  a  feeling  that  it 
would  be  a  delight,  pure  and  simple,  to  go  back  to  bed  and 
sleep  five  or  six  hours  longer,  and  when  he  does  finally  dress 
and  go  out  on  the  street,  he  has  no  more  ambition,  nor  inchna- 
tion  to  do  anything,  or  go  anywhere,  or  see  anything,  than  as 
if  there  were  nothing  to  do,  nowhere  to  go,  nor  anything  to  see. 
But  that  is  what  he  is  here  for,  and  from  force  of  habit  he  goes 
on  the  everlasting  treadmill  of  sight-seeing,  until  the  very  name 
of  London  is  odious,  and  its  never-ending  throng  of  people, 
hurrying  along  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  or  business,  that,  at 
first,  was  such  a  novel  and  interesting  study,  becomes  distaste- 
ful to  a  degree,  and  he  wishes  he  were  home  again  or  in  some 
vast  wilderness,  or  —  anywhere,  away  from  the  narrow,  crowded 
streets  of  high  wall,  and  old-fashioned  buildings,  that  stifle  all 
his  energies  and  tire  his  very  nature. 

So  it  seemed  —  so  it  really  was — after  four  weeks'  stay  in 
London,  when  one  forenoon  a  trip  down  to  Richmond,  twelve 
miles  away,  was  suggested.  The  suggestion  was  acted  upon 
with  alacrity,  and  half-an-hour's  ride  produced  a  change  such 
as  one  sees  in  the  transformation  scenes  of  a  pantomime.  Yan- 
ished  the  dull,  heavy  air ;  gone  all  the  queer  old  buildings,  with 

(213) 


214  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

their  still  queerer  old  people ;  hushed  the  noise  and  bustle  of 
the  streets,  with  their  never-ceasing  turmoil  of  strugghng 
humanity  and  ever-roUing  'ansoms,  and  instead  a  bright  blue 
sky  with  a  glorious  flood  of  sunlight,  its  fierceness  tempered  by 
a  gentle  breeze,  cool  and  delicious,  that  was  breathing  through 
the  grand  old  oaks,  and  stirred  with  gentle  ripple  the  placid 
bosom  of  the  Thames,  which  Avanders  like  a  ribbon  of  silver 
through  the  wonderful  meadows  and  dales  of  the  beautiful 
country  that  makes  Eichmond  seem  like  a  paradise. 

The  first  feeling  was  one  of  relief  —  that  the  terrors  of  Lon^ 
don  had  been  left  far  behind ;  and  there  was  light  and  air  and 
happiness  again.  Then  this  gave  way  to  exultation.  The  pure 
air  intoxicated,  the  green  trees,  the  velvety  turf,  the  warbling 
of  the  birds,  after  four  long,  dreary  weeks  in  London,  caused 
the  heaii;  to  throb  with  new  life,  the  blood  to  course  through 
the  veins  with  new  strength,  and  there  came  an  ahnost  irresisti- 
ble desire  to  throw  up  one's  hands  and  shout  for  very  gladness. 
It  was  almost  too  good  to  be  real,  and  once  in  a  while  one  really 
stopped  to  think  whether  or  not  he  would  suddenly  awaken 
and  find  hunself  in  dingy,  smoky  London. 

But  no.  It  was  all  real.  The  pure  air  was  there,  the 
sunlight,  the  breeze,  the  green  turf,  the  magnificent  trees, 
centuries  old.  All,  all  were  there,  and  the  day  was  to  be  one 
of  unalloyed  pleasure  and  happiness.  God  made  the  country 
—  man  made  the  town. 

In  all  truth  Richmond  is  a  most  charming  place.  Only 
twelve  miles  from  the  metropolis,  and  in  reality  one  of  its 
many  suburbs,  it  nestles  among  the  hills,  and  looks  off  upon  a 
broad  expanse  of  field  and  meadow^  and  forest,  as  though  there 
were  no  such  place  as  London  in  existence.  It  is  not  a  com- 
mercial city,  although  of  course  it  has  its  quota  of  shops.  It 
is  a  residence  city  —  or,  as  they  call  it,  town  — for,  although  it 
has  a  population  of  one  hundred  thousand,  there  is  no  cathe- 
dral, so  it  cannot  aspire  to  the  dignity  of  being  a  city.  The 
town  is  made  up  in  great  part  of  families  whose  members  do 
business  "  in  the  city,"  and  they  live  in  quiet  elegance  in  < 
beautiful  homes.     That  is  the  ideal  suburban  existence. 

But  aside  from  the  quaint  beauty  of  the  town  itself,  its 
chiefest  perfection  is  in  its  environs.      A  few  minutes'  walk 


THE    STAR    AND    GARTER.  215 

from  the  heart  of  the  town  is  that  famous  hostelry,  known  the 
world  over,  "The  Star  and  Garter,"  where,  in  olden  times, 
royalty  disported  itself  under  its  moss-covered  roof,  in  grand 
entertainments  lasting  for  days  at  a  time.  For  generations  it 
was  the  resort  of  nobles,  and  then,  when  they  tired  of  it,  the 
people,  imitating  them  as  far  as  they  were  able,  took  it  up  and 
basked  in  the  mellow  light  of  its  former  grandeur,  which  has 
long  since  departed,  it  having  become  unfashionable. 

Gay  old  times  these  noble  roysterers  used  to  have  in  this 
beautiful  spot.  The  wines  of  the  South,  actually  cobwebbed 
and  dusty,  flowed  like  water,  and  the  most  delicious  food, 
brought  from  the  forests  and  seas  of  all  climes,  graced  the 
board.  It  was  no  trouble  to  them.  They  had  no  occasion  to 
count  expense  as  the  people  who  go  there  now  have  to.  For 
they  had  their  tenants  worldng  for  them  at  home,  and  they 
had  their  armies  and  fleets  bringing  them  wealth  from  every- 
where, and  they  could  afford  to  eat,  drink  and  be  merry,  and 
they  did  it  all. 

To  be  a  King  in  those  days  was  a  very  comfortable  thing, 
except  when  some  sturdy  commoner,  like  Cromwell,  tired  of 
all  this,  and  cut  off  a  head.  Opposed  as  I  am  to  royalty  and 
nobility  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  had  I  lived  in  those  days  I 
should  very  much  hked  to  have  been  even  a  Duke.  It  was  n't 
a  bad  situation,  at  all. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  the  Star  and  Garter  was  a  great 
favorite,  and  is  yet  in  its  way,  for  it  is  most  beautifully 
situated.  Standing  in  its  broad  verandas  there  is  a  rural 
panorama  spread  out  that  is  simply  superb,  l^ear  at  hand  is 
the  Park,  fiUed  with  gnarled  old  trees,  under  whose  branches 
hundreds  of  years  ago  haughty  ladies  and  imperious  lords 
indulged  in  courtly  pleasures,  or  engaged  in  intrigues  where 
the  nobles  amused  themselves  in  hunting  the  wild  deer  that 
ranged  across  its  commons ;  where  the  flower  of  the  youth  of 
the  country  met  in  fierce  tournaments,  with  all  the  pride  and 
pomp  of  the  time.  Just  below  the  chff  is  the  Thames,  placid 
and  serene,  that  winds  in  and  out  the  wooded  lands  in  graceful 
.curves,  while  beyond,  rising  not  boldly  and  grandly,  but  none 
the  less  beautiful,  are  green  hills,  dotted  here  and  there 
with  clumps  of  beautiful  oaks  and  pines ;  dales  and  vaUeys  that 


216  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

give  us  a  view  miles  in  extent.  Over  all  this  picture,  to 
which  no  pen  can  do  justice,  is  that  marvelous  atmospheric 
effect  that  can  only  be  found  in  an  English  woodland  scene. 
Kot  a  mist,  and  yet  a  delicate  haze,  soft  and  subdued,  that 
tones  down  the  broad  effects  and  gives  the  whole  a  perfection 
that  is  enchanting.  One  can  stand,  as  before  a  magnificent 
painting,  gazing  for  hours  upon  the  scene  and  find  new  features 
every  instant. 

And  then  the  long  walk  through  the  Park,  itself  a  marvel 
of  the  picturesque.  Along  winding  paths,  over  rustic  hedges, 
resting  here  under  the  cooling  shade  of  a  huge  chestnut,  whose 
branches  cover  a  vast  extent  of  ground,  stopping  anon  to 
admire  the  graceful  deer  that  gaze  timidly  and  yet  curiously 
at  the  passer-by,  as  though  wondering  why  he  should  trespass 
upon  their  domain.  For  a  whole  hour  there  was  a  continual 
revelation  of  natural  beauties,  and  then  suddenly  the  old  town 
of  Kingston  was  entered. 

Here  the  streets  were  narrow,  the  houses  low  and  old- 
fashioned,  and  the  people  quiet-going  English,  who  have  lived 
in  the  same  place  where  their  fathers  lived  before  them,  and 
their's  before  them. 

Passing  the  cattle  market,  which  is  about  the  only  live 
business  of  Kingston,  a  large  square  stone,  surrounded  by  an 
iron  railing,  attracts  attention.  Examination  shows  it  to  be 
the  identical  stone  upon  which  sat  the  ancient  Saxon  Kings 
when  they  were  crowned.  There  was  nothing  particularly 
peculiar  about  the  stone,  but  of  course  it  would  not  have  done 
to  have  gone  by  without  at  least  casting  a  glance  at  the  relic 
of  so  long  ago.  Possibly  the  proper  thing  to  do  was  to  uncover 
and  drop  a  tear  as  the  memories  of  the  glorious  scenes  thereon 
enacted  went  trooping  through  the  mind.  Possibly  it  would 
have  been  the  thing  to  sit  on  the  queer  old  stone  and  imagine 
the  space  around  filled  with  warlike  chiefs  and  outlandishly 
arrayed  ladies  of  the  Court,  and  indulge  in  a  day  dream  of  the 
times  when  such  things  occurred.  Possibly  this  may  have 
been  the  thing  to  do,  but  it  was  n't  done,  and  for  good  reasons, 
too.  Even  if  one  had  had  the  inclination  to  act  in  such  an 
orthodox,  sight-seeing  manner,  which  is  much  doubted,  there 
was  a  high  iron  railing,  with  sharp  pointed  iron  palings,  that 


nOWN   THE    RIVER.  217 

would  have  effectually  kept  the  greatest  enthusiast  outside  the 
sacred  enclosure. 

Passing  on  through  the  town,  the  long  walk  begins  to  tell 
upon  one's  powers  of  endurance,  so  a  rest  is  taken  at  "  Bond's." 
Who  has  not  heard  of  Bond's,  the  great  resort  of  boating 
parties  on  the  Thames  ?  It  is  noted  all  over  England,  and  its 
fame  has  spread  even  to  America.  A  pleasant  Summer  garden, 
with  trees  and  plants  and  flowers,  gravelly  walks  and  rustic 
arbors,  on  a  high  terrace,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  limpid 
stream  glides  smoothly  along,  while  beyond,  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  reach,  is  the  beautiful  scenery  that  seems  almost  like  fairy- 
land. What  better  place  can  be  imagined  for  a  lunch  —  a 
biscuit  and  a  bit  of  cheese,  washed  down  with  a  pint  of 
refreshing  "shandygaff."  One  could  drink  the  bad  beer  of 
the  country  here.  It  is  truly  delightful.  And  then  a  quiet 
smoke,  the  light  clouds  curHng  upward  in  an  atmosphere  as 
pure  and  clear  as  the  air  of  life ;  while  all  that  is  poetic  in 
one's  nature  is  appealed  to  by  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  the 
sense  of  delicious  comfort,  and  the  faint  music  of  distant  boat- 
ing parties,  who,  singing  as  they  row,  make  a  harmony  that 
intensifies  the  pleasure  of  the  hour,  and  makes  one  almost 
wish  that  this  most  perfect  day  might  go  on  forever. 

But  still  a  greater  treat  is  in  store.  A  ride  back  to  Rich- 
mond on  the  water,  rowed  by  a  brawny  waterman,  who  does, 
as  a  matter  of  business,  exactly  the  same  thing  that  so  many 
of  the  "  swells,"  who  are  seen  skimming  past  in  their  graceful 
single  sculls,  are  doing  for  pleasure. 

"  Why,"  said  I  to  the  waterman,  "  do  you  make  us  pay  for 
doing  what  those  men  do  for  nothing  ? " 

"  Ah !  "  was  his  reply,  "  'spose  they  'ad  to !  " 

Philosophic  waterman!  Whether  any  given  exercise  is 
pleasure  or  pain  depends  very  much  whether  one  "  has  to." 
The  London  jarvey  drives  a  four  in  hand  for  one  pound  a  week, 
and  Lord  Tom  Noddy  does  precisely  the  same  thing  for  the 
fun  of  it.  One  has  to,  and  the  other  has  n't,  and  there's  the 
difference. 

By  this  time  the  river  is  full  of  pleasure  crafts.  Here 
comes  an  eight-oared  shell,  whizzing  along  at  a  rattling  pace, 
the  little  cockswain  urging  the  crew  on  to  still  greater  efforts  as 


218 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


he  skilfully  guides  the  long,  slender  boat  through  the  multitude 
of  pleasure  barges  and  skiffs.  Over  there  is  a  trim  craft  ghding 
along  lazily,  a  pair  of  brawny  arms  just  moving  the  oars,  while 
a  pair  of  honest,  manly  eyes  are  speaking  in  unmistakable 
language  to  a  fair-haired  girl  who  is  reclining  in  the  stern,  idly 
tossing  the  tassels  to  the  rudder  strings,  as  if  she  didn't  care 
about  what  was  being  said,  even  though  the  swift  glances  from 


'"'•Md)^rA& 


ON   THE    THAMES. 

under  her  broad  brimmed  hat,  and  the  mantling  crimson  on 
her  cheek,  tell  an  entirely  different  tale. 

Just  beyond  is  a  boat,  large  and  roomy,  in  which  ^xe  young 
ladies  are  enjoying  the  pleasure  of  the  hour.  While  four  of 
them  puU  strong  and  gracefully,  the  fifth  steers  the  rapidly 
moving  lapstreak  with  a  skiU.and  precision  that  shows  a  master 
hand.     These  English  girls  may  be  laughed  at  by  their  more 


A    PLEASENT    PLACE    10    LIVE.  219 

delicate  American  cousins,  but  in  the  matter  of  health  and 
strength,  they  are  the  ones  to  laugh.  They  believe  in  plenty 
of  exercise  in  the  open  air,  and  they  take  it ;  as,  for  example, 
these  girls,  beautiful  as  a  picture,  who  row  as  perfectly  and  in 
as  good  "form"  as  though  they  had  always  been  on  the  water. 
See  the  perfection  of  their  development,  the  ruddy  glow  of 
health  in  their  cheeks,  the  merry  sparkle  of  the  eye,  the  glad- 
ness in  their  hearty  laugh,  and  then  talk  about  the  usefulness  of 
outdoor  exercise. 

Every  stroke  of  the  oar  as  the  boat  speeds  merrily  down  the 
river,  reveals  a  new  picture,  each  one  as  perfect  in  its  complete- 
ness as  that  which  preceded  it. 

On  the  left  bank  are  the  country  seats  of  gentlemen  of 
means.  They  are  for  the  most  part  odd  looking  old  places,  with 
their  angular  towers  and  turrets,  and  bowed  windows  long  and 
narrow.  The  lawns  sloping  gradually  from  the  house  down  to 
the  water's  edge  are  perfectly  smooth,  and  ornamented  with 
clustering  chestnuts  and  laburnums,  elms  and  hndens,  and  the 
green  foliaged  birch,  while  the  green  hedges,  wonderfully  well 
kept,  add  to  the  general  effect  of  the  scene.  The  river  winds 
in  and  out  among  all  the  charming  places,  for  seven  miles,  and 
the  town  of  Richmond  is  seen  far  oif  in  the  distance. 

As  the  river  makes  a  sudden  bend  there  appears  still  another 
picture,  the  masterpiece  of  the  series  that  has  dehghted  the 
senses  for  the  last  two  hours.  There  on  the  bluif  stands  the 
picturesque  "  Star  and  Garter,"  with  its  background  of  foliage. 
Just  below  is  a  portion  of  an  old  stone  bridge  across  the 
Thames,  while  to  the  left  the  beautiful  landscape  stretches 
away  to  the  distant  hills,  whose  summits  are  lost  in  the  purple 
haze  of  the  closing  day.  It  is  a  sight  never  to  be  forgotten ; 
one  that  will  linger  ever  upon  the  memory  as  a  revelation  of 
the  absolutely  beautiful  in  Nature. 


CHAPTER  XYL 


FROM    LONDON   TO    PARIS. 


Good-bye  for  the  present  to  London.  Good-bye  to  its 
smoke,  its  fogs,  its  predatory  hackmen,  its  bad  water,  its 
worse  beer,  its  still  worse  gin.  Goodbye  to  its  eternal  rains, 
its  never-ending  badly  dressed  men  and  worse  dressed  women. 
Good-bye  to  very  bad  bread.  Good-bye  to  the  greatest  collec- 
tion of  shams  and  realities,  goodness  and  cruelty  in  the  world. 
Seven  weeks  in  London  and  its  environs  is  all  that  an  Amer- 
ican can  endure,  who  ever  expects  to  get  back  to  his  own 
country.  Were  fate  to  have  a  spite  at  him,  and  condemn 
him  to  make  his  residence  there  forever,  he  would  settle 
down  as  a  man  does  in  a  penitentiary  and  do  the  best  he 
could,  but  for  one  who  has  a  hope  of  returning  to  a  country 
that  was  made  after  the  Maker  had  had  some  experience 
In  making  countries,  a  longer  stay  in  London  than  seven 
weeks  would  be  too  much.  Seven  weeks  of  biliousness  and 
depression — seven  weeks  of  exasperation  and  discomfort,  seven 
weeks  of  extortion  and  tipping,  seven  weeks  in  an  English  suit 
of  clothes,  is  all  that  an  average  American  can  endure. 

And  so  good-bye  to  London  till  we  renew  our  strength  and 
can  tackle  it  again.  It  is  not  exhausted,  nor  could  it  be  in  a 
year.  It  is  a  brute  among  cities,  but  it  is  a  mastodon.  It  is  a 
very  large  and  variegated  animal. 

To  the  south  hes  France  —  La  BeUe  France  —  and  thither 
we  go.  Our  landlady  would  hold  us  if  she  could,  and  gives 
expression  to  many  reasons  why  we  should  stay  in  London : 
It  is  very  warm  in  Paris ;  it  is  very  disagreeable  crossing  the 
channel ;  Paris  is  unhealthy.  At  this  time  of  the  year  Paris  is 
crowded,  and  it  is  probable  that  we  will  not  be  able  to  get 
apartments  such  as  would  be  suitable.     It  is  not  the  season  in 

(220) 


221 

Paris,  and  we  had  better  go  tliere  later,  and  so  on  and  so  forth. 
You  see  the  season  in  London  is  waning,  and  the  good  lady  will 
have  difficulty  in  fiUing  her  rooms.  It  is  delicately  hinted  that 
if  a  slight  deduction  in  rent  (we  have  been  paying  three  prices) 
would  be  an  object,  etc.  But  it  all  avails  nothing.  We  should 
go  to  Paris  if  we  should  be  compelled  to  sleep  under  a  bridge 
and  eat  in  a  market.  It  is  not  so  much  to  get  to  Paris  as  it  is 
to  get  out  of  London,  and  raise  our  spirits  to  something  like 
their  normal  condition.  And  so,  when  the  good  woman  finds 
there  is  no  holding  us,  she  makes  out  our  bill  vindictively, 
racking  her  imagination  to  find  items  to  insert,  and  weeping, 
no  doubt,  after  our  departure,  over  items  that  she  might  have 
inserted,  but,  in  the  hurry,  forgot.  The  cabman,  knowing  by 
the  station  he  was  driving  us  to  that  we  were  going,  managed 
to  charge  an  extra  shilling,  and  at  the  lunch  counter  at  the 
station  we  paid  an  extra  penny  for  the  everlasting  ham  sand- 
wich, which  was  to  be  the  last.  And  when  the  last  tip  was 
paid,  and  the  last  extortion  submitted  to,  we  were  finally 
locked  in  our  villainous  compartment,  and  were  off.  London, 
or  the  fog  that  covered  it,  faded  from  our  sight,  we  saw  the 
sun,  and  were  scurrying  through  the  green  fields  and  the  real 
delights  of  rural  England. 

From  Victoria  Station  to  New  Haven  is  not  the  most 
interesting  trip  that  can  be  imagined,  although  there  are 
picturesque  towns,  waving  fields  of  grass,  with  an  occasional 
bit  of  woods,  that  relieve  the  journey  of  some  of  its  unpleasant 
features,  and  make  it  rather  enjoyable.  But  by  the  time  one 
has  gone  through  miles  and  miles  of  such  scenery,  the  towns 
become  monotonous,  each  succeeding  field  of  grain  waves  just 
as  the  one  before  it  did,  the  woods,  miniature  forests,  are  just 
alike,  and,  leaning  back  in  the  corner  of  the  compartment,  the 
time  is  spent  in  dozing  until  eleven  o'clock,  when  the  train 
rushes  into  the  station  at  IN'ew  Haven,  and  we  struggle  through 
the  dimly  lighted  passages  to  the  dock,  where  lies  the  steamer 
that  is  to  take  us  across  that  bugbear  of  all  tourists,  the 
English  Channel. 

And  then  we  have  the  satisfaction  of  learning  that  the  tide 
is  not  in,  and  the  steamer  will  not  leave  for  two  hours  and  a 
haH.     It  is  a  dark,  windy  night,  and  there  is  no  way  to  spend 


222 


NASBY   IN    EXILE. 


the  time  save  by  pacing  up  and  down  the  narrow  confines  of 
the  deck,  watching  the  enormous  cranes  loading  huge  packages 
of  merchandize  into  the  vessel's  hold ;  or  taking  a  stroll  along 
the  dock,  regardless  of  the  momentary  danger  of  stumbling 
over  an  unseen  cable  and  pitching  headlong  into  the  water. 
There  is  one  other  way  of  passing  the  time.  Whenever  a 
tourist  can  find  nothing  else  to  do,  he  eats.  There  is  in  the 
station  at  New  Haven  the  inevitable  lunch  counter,  with  the 


SANDWICHES  AT  NEW   HA.VEN. 

orthodox  ham  sandwich  and  bitter  beer.  To  this  everybody 
was  attracted  as  by  a  magnet.  There  is  no  escaping  it.  No 
body  was  hungry ;  but  it  seems  to  be  a  law  of  Nature  that 
you  must  eat  ham  sandwiches  while  you  wait  at  railroad 
stations.  And  in  obedience  to  this  law,  a  cart-load  of  the 
sandwiches  were  devoured  and  paid  for 

The  New  Haven  sandwich  is  very  like  its  London  brother, 
only  it  is  a  trifle  thicker.     The  cutter  is  not  as  expert  as  the 


THE    LONG    WAIT.  22S 

London  professional,  but  he  makes  it  just  as  indigestible.  It 
is  a  trifle  worse,  because  it  is  a  trifle  larger. 

But  time  goes  on,  no  matter  how  slowly  it  seems  to  move, 
and  the  tide  comes  in,  although  its  rise  cannot  be  seen,  and  so, 
just  before  one  o'clock  the  warning  whistle  was  given,  the 
passengers  took  their  places,  the  great  wheels  began  to  revolve, 
and  we  slowly  steamed  out  past  the  breakwater  into  the 
channel. 

The  necessity  for  making  the  boat's  landing  so  far  away 
from  the  deep  water  cannot  be  understood.  But  so  it  is. 
Instead  of  running  the  track  down  to  the  dock  and  establish- 
ing the  station  there,  where  there  would  be  no  occasion  to 
wait  for  the  tide,  the  steamer  goes  up  an  arm  of  the  sea  about 
an  eighth  of  a  mile,  ^nd  has  to  stay  there  until  the  water  is 
deep  enough  to  allow  the  passage  to  be  made. 

Once  out  upon  the  channel,  the  fresh  breeze  blows  away 
all  the  wicked  thoughts  the  two  hours'  detention  had  engen- 
dered, and  as  the  moon  breaks  through  the  clouds,  dimming 
the  fast  disappearing  lights  on  shore,  we  give  ourselves  up  to 
pleasant  reverie.  There  is  the  memory  of  all  that  has  occurred 
during  an  exceedingly  busy  seven  weeks  in  London,  and  the 
anticipation  of  experiences  new  and  strange  that  are  to  fill  in 
the  next  two  or  three  months.  And  as  we  sit  on  deck  smoking 
and  dreaming,  until,  our  last  cigar  having  gone  out,  and  the 
chill  air  made  us  shiver,  we  go  below  only  to  find  fresh  cause 
for  growling  at  the  Enghsh,  and  things  English. 

Instead  of  commodious,  airy  staterooms  in  which  we  can 
go  regularly  to  bed  and  enjoy  a  good  night's  rest,  there  is 
nothing  but  a  series  of  bunks,  upholstered  in  a  cheap  red 
plush,  on  which  the  weary  traveler  may  stretch  himseK,  and, 
putting  a  blanket  over  him,  get  such  rest  as  'he  can  from 
such  scanty  accommodations.  And  this,  too,  for  the  first- 
class  passenger. 

At  four  o'clock  every  one  was  turned  out,  for  Dieppe 
was  in  sight.  Such  a  sorry  looking  lot  of  passengers  I  never 
saw.  Most  of  them  had  caught  a  severe  cold,  and  all  of  them 
looked  uncomfortable  and  cross,  as  though  they  really  had  not 
enjoyed  the  luxurious  quarters  furnished  by  the  enterprising 
manager  of  that  line. 


224 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


The  view  from  the  steamer's  deck  was  beautiful.  The  sun, 
about  half  an  hour  high,  made  the  Avater  sparkle  as  the  light 
off-shore  breeze  rippled  its  surface.  The  channel,  which  had 
behaved  wonderfully  well,  was  dotted  with  fishing  smacks 
from  Dieppe,  while  here  and  there  a  steamer,  trailing  a  long 

cloud   of   smoke 
£^^  y, .  «  .  '"  )»i  '^~       -  behind,   sailed 

along  utterly  in- 
different to  the 
smaller  craft  that 
had  to  tack  with 
each  phase  of  the 
ever-varying  wind. 
Just  ahead  of  us, 
half  hiddenby 
chalky  cliffs,  could 
be  seen  a  part  of 
the  town,  while  to 
the  right,  huge 
white  cliffs  arose 
and  stretched 
away  almost  as  far 
as  the  eye  could 
reach,  the  straight 
white  sides  rising 
'"  abruptly  from  the 
water,  reflecting 
the  rays  of  the 
sun,  and  shining 
with  dazzling  whiteness.  On  the  left,  high  up  on  the  hills, 
were  stately  mansions,  pretty  villas,  cool  looking  parks  and 
pleasant  drives.  It  was  indeed  a  beautiful  sight,  and  we  were 
gazing  on  it  with  rapture  when  a  bell  sounded,  the  paddle 
wheel  stopped  revolving,  and  we  drifted  slowly  on. 

"  The  tide  does  not  serve,  and  we  will  have  to  cruise  about 
here  for  two  or  three  hours." 

So  said  one  of  the  seamen  when  asked  why  the  steamer 
had  been  stopped. 

It  was  pleasant.     We  enjoyed  it.     We  fairly  reveled  in  it. 


OFF  DIEPPE  — FOUR  A.    M. 


THE    CUSTOM    HOUSE. 


225 


We  were  hungry,  it's  true,  but  what  was  hunger  to  the  delight 
of  waiting  three  hours  in  an  abominable  steamer?  We  were 
cold  and  tired.  But  what  of  that?  We  could  gaze  on  white 
cliffs  and  talk  pleasant  things  to  each  other  for  three  hours ! 

When  the  tide  did  serve,  and  we  were  landed,  which  hap- 
pened about  six  o'clock  Sunday  morning,  we  went  through 
the  Custom  House,  our  countenances  expressing  such  Christian 
resignation  as  must  have  indicated  our  character  to  the  officials, 
for  they  never  opened  our  baggage  at  all.  They  simply  said : 
"Avez  vous  tabac   ou   liquers?"  (observe  how  well   we   are 


HAVE  YOU  TOBACCO   OR  SPIRITS? 

getting  on  in  French),  and  as  we  murmured  "No,"  aloud,  and 

to  ourselves,  "  but  we  wish  we  had,"  they  waved  us  on,  and  we 

were  all  right. 

Adjoining  the   Custom   House  is  a  coffee  room,  and  we 

entered.     The  repast  spread  out  for  us  was  just  a  trifle  the 

worst   that  was  ever  seen.     It  was  worse  than  anything  in 

London,  and  more  than  that  cannot  be  said. 
15 


226  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

I  suppose  it  is  all  right,  and  for  the  best.  I  suppose  that 
taking  us  out  of  London  at  six  o'clock  p.  m.,  and  waiting  two 
and  a  half  hours  in  New  Haven  for  the  tide,  and  two  hours 
in  Dieppe  harbor  also,  for  the  tide,  is  unavoidable.  But  if  I 
ever  get  a  chance  I  shall  ask  the  manager  of  the  line  these 
questions : 

1.  Do  you  know  the  hour  at  which  the  tide  comes  in  at 
l^^ew  Haven? 

2.  Do  you  know  the  hour  the  tide  serves  to  enter  Dieppe  ? 

3.  If  so,  why  not  give  us  the  five  and  a  half  hours  that 
were  consumed  in  useless  waiting  at  'New  Haven  and  Dieppe, 
in  London  ? 

4.  Has  your  company  any  interest  in  the  ham  sandwich 
and  beer  counter  in  New  Haven  ?  and  is  this  delay  in  that 
most  uninteresting  place  for  the  purpose  of  compelling  the 
waiting  passengers  to  leave  a  few  more  shillings  in  England  ? 

And  I  shall  demand  specific  answers  to  these  queries.  The 
taste  of  the  New  Haven  sandwiches  is  yet  in  my  mouth. 

Dieppe  is  a  pleasant  little  city  of  perhaps  twenty  thousand 
population,  devoted  to  the  carving  of  ivory,  fishing,  and 
swindling  tourists,  the  latter  pursuit  being  evidently  the 
most  prosperous.  The  fisher  people  are  a  picturesque  lot  as 
to  costume,  and  are  hardy  withal,  men,  women  and  children. 
They  are  bold  sailors,  and  what  they  do  not  know  about 
water  and  its  contents  is  not  worth  knowing. 

Bad  as  the  English  trains  are,  in  France,  where  there  is 
the  same  system,  it  was  even  worse,  for  we  were  a  little  shaky 
in  our  French.  However,  we  put  on  a  cheerful  countenance, 
and  said  '^Oui^^  to  everything,  and  made  believe  we  knew  all 
about  it,  and  let  the  guard  put  us  where  he  pleased,  and  were 
soon  humming  along  through  the  outskirts  of  Dieppe.  We 
were  just  beginning  to  enjoy  the  prospect  of  rural  scenery? 
when,  without  a  note  of  warning,  we  plunged  into  a  tunnel, 
which  seemed  to  last  forever,  though  it  was  only  a  mile  long. 

Emerging  from  this,  it  was  seen  that  an  immense  mountain 
had  been  pierced,  and  we  were  at  once  in  the  fertile  valleys  of 
picturesque  Normandy.  As  the  train  hurried  along  there  Avas 
a  constant  succession  of  pictures  that  would  drive  a  poet  or 
painter  into  raptures. 


NORMANDY. 


227 


The  broad  valleys,  the  hills  and  dales,  were  intersected  by 
smooth  white  ^  roads  that  wound  around  side  hills,  through 
forests  and  then  far  away  over  a  long,  level  stretch,  through 
queer  little  towns,  the  existence  of  which  was  never  dreamed 


FISHER  FOLK  —  DIEPPE. 


of  by  the  outside  world.  All  along  these  well-kept  wagon- 
ways  were  lined  on  either  side  by  closely  trimmed  hedges, 
shaded  by  tall  and  stately  Lombardy  poplars,  that  stood  grim 
and  erect  as  though  they  were  the  guardians  of  the  country. 
Here  and  there  between  the  quaint  little  villages,  with  their 
one  main  street  running  their  entire  length,  were  the  high, 
narrow  houses  of  the  peasants,  with  thatched  roofs  and  queer 
little  windows.  Arouud  them,  neatly  piled,  were  bundles  of 
fagots,  carefully  done  up   and   stored  away  for  winter  use. 


228 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


They  are  a  frugal  people,  these  Normans,  and  waste  absolutely 
nothing. 

Although  it  is  Sunday  morning,  and  we  are  sad  because 
circumstances  will  not  allow  us  to  attend  divine  w-orship,  it 


FISHER  WOMEN  —  DIEPPE. 


seems  to  make  no  difference  with  the  people  here,  for  in  every 
field  are  seen  women,  with  their  high  peaked  bonnets,  busily 
engaged  in  raking  fragrant  hay  into  huge  piles,  which  the  men, 


THE    PEOPLE. 


229 


arrayed  in  the  traditional  blue  blouse  and  overalls,  are  loading 
upon  wagons  for  carriage  to  the  barns. 


FISHER  BOY  AND  CHILD  —  DIEPPE. 

These  men  and  women  aie  well  built,  sturdy  people,  who 


230  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

have  thrived  well  u]3on  the  pure  air  that  comes  down  from 
the  mountains  above.  In  the  olden  time  the  men  were  noted 
for  their  stature  and  strength,  and  furnished  the  French  army 
with  its  best  troops;  and  they  are  to-day  fine  specimens  of 
physical  manhood. 

I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  there  is  something  irresistibly 
fascinating  in  an  old  castle,  or  the  ruins  of  what  once  Avas  a 
great  stronghold.  After  passing  Malaunay  and  getting  well 
out  into  the  country,  we  came  to  a  series  of  hills  stretching 
way  back  from  the  railroad.  There  was  a  dense  forest  near 
the  summit  of  the  highest  part,  upon  the  top  of  which,  half 
hidden  by  the  trees,  was  part  of  a  castle,  a  bit  of  wall  and  a 
huge  round  tower,  all  that  remained  of  what  was,  in  the  early 
history  of  the  country,  a  castle  that  was  utterly  impregnable. 
As  the  train  wound  round  the  base  of  the  hill,  a  better  view 
of  it  was  obtained,  and  then  came  the  longing  to  plunge 
through  the  forest,  clamber  up  the  steep  hillside  and  wander 
through  the  old  ruins,  hunting  for  trap-doors  and  deep,  dark 
dungeons,  where  noble  knights  had  been  confined  for  years 
and  years,  while  fair  ladies  pined  away  and  died  because  they 
came  not  back  to  them.  This  pleasant  reverie  might  have 
gone  on  indefinitely,  even  after  the  romantic  spot  had  been 
left  far  behind,  had  not  the  other  passengers  in  the  compart- 
ment began  preparing  to  ahght  at  the  next  station,  Rouen. 

We  determined  to  stop  over  one  train  at  Rouen,  to  see  not 
only  a  French  city,  but  the  old  statue  of  the  French  heroine, 
Joan  of  Arc,  who  was  there  burned  at  the  stake,  and  the 
famous  cathedral  therein.  Tibbitts,  Lemuel,  was  of  the  party, 
and  a  Professor  in  a  western  college  likewise. 

The  Professor  was  calmly  enthusiastic,  and  Tibbitts  was 
unutterably  miserable.  He  could  not  speak  a  word  of  French, 
and  it  puzzled  him  to  even  order  a  drink.  And  then  the  Avine ! 
He  did  not  like  Avine,  and  French  brandy  Avas  not  to  his  taste. 
He  managed  to  make  them  understand,  however,  Avhat  he 
wanted,  and  managed  to  get  it  a  minute  after  he  landed  fi*om 
the  cars. 

It  Avas  Sunday,  but  the  shops  were  all  open,  and  newsboys 
were  crying  their  papers  upon  the  streets.  Their  announce- 
ments Avere  very  long,  and  Tibbitts  stood  and  heard  one  of 
them  clear  through. 


231 

"Listen  to  the  little  villain,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  don't 
believe  a  d — d  word  of  it."  And  Mr.  Tibbitts  preached  a 
short  sermon  anent  the  exaggerations  common  to  newsboys, 
recounting  the  number  of  times  he  had  been  induced  by  their 
false  representation  to  purchr.se  papers  in  America.  He  con- 
sidered himself  too  old  to  be  taken  in  by  a  French  newsboy. 
**]S'ewsboys  are  the  same  in  Eouen  as  in  Oshkosh,"  he  said. 

After  a  light  lunch  in  an  arbor  in  a  delicious  garden  back 
of  a  cafe,  we  started  to  see  Rouen,  its  cathedral  and  the  statue 
of  Joan,  and  what  else  was  to  be  seen.  We  urged  Tibbitts  to 
accompany  us.  He  concluded  to  do  it,  though  he  protested 
it  was  far  more  pleasant  to  sit  in  that  arbor,  even  though 
it  was  beastly  wine  he  was  drinking  instead  of  the  delicious 
whisky  of  Oshkosh,  than  it  was  tramping  around  in  search  of 
antiquities. 

We  came  to  a  narrow  street,  one  of  the  kind  only  to  be 
seen  in  French  cities.  The  entire  space  from  wall  to  wall 
could  not  have  been  twelve  feet,  and  on  either  hand  were 
curious  houses,  seven  stories  high,  entered  b}^  dark,  narrow 
tunnels  rather  than  passages,  but  with  flowers  at  every  win- 
dow, clear  to  the  queer,  quaint  top,  which  was  continued 
after  it  had  reached  what  should  have  been  its  smimiit.  The 
professor  stopped  before  one  of  these  dark  passages,  and 
observed  a  parcel  of  illy  dressed  but  marvelously  clean  children 
—  there  are  no  dirty  children  in  France  —  playing  some  game. 

" It  is  wonderful ! "  said  the  Professor,  in  an  ecstacy ;  "here 
are  we,  of  the  new  West,  standing  on  ground  in  a  street 
through  which,  may  be,  the  soldiers  of  old  France  marched. 
Here  are  we  within  sight  of  the  place  where  Joan  of  Arc  was 
burned,  on  ground  pressed  by  the  feet  of  Charlemagne.  In 
this  house,  perchance,  were  born  heroes ;  within  these  walls  for 
hundreds  of  years  have  been  born  children  who  have  grown 
to  manhood,  and  died.  These  children,  playing  in  this  gutter, 
were  born  in  this  historic  city,  and " 

"And  they  all  speak  French,"  interrupted  Tibbitts,  "which 
I  can't,  but,  thank  Heaven,  I  can  lay  all  over  'em  in  English. 
Look  here,  Professor,  don't  give  us  any  more  rot  about  this 
being  old.  We  are  just  as  old  in  Oshkosh  as  they  are  in 
Rouen.     When  the  old  Korman  warriors  were  cruising  about 


232 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


loaded  down  with  pot-metal,  killing  each  other,  the  Indians  of 
America  Avere  doing  the  same  thing  among  themselves,  only 
they   were   clothed   more  sensibly.      A  breech   clout   w^as   a 


thundering  sight  more  comfortable  in  the  summer  than  steel 
armor,  and  I  do  n't  know  that  Idlling  a  man  with  a  lance  was 
any  more  deserving  of  adoration  than  killing  one  with  a  bow 
and  arrow.     The  point  to  it  all  is  killing  the  man.    Antiquity ! 


TIBBITTS'    SERMON. 


233 


What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  Here  is  a  lot  of  stone  that  has 
been  piled  up  a  thousand  years  or  more.  How  do  you  know 
but  what  the  Indians  are  older  than  the  Gauls  ?     I  hold  that 


ROUEN. 


they  are.  The  Gauls  built  a  cathedral  that  is  standing  yet.  I 
defy  you  to  go  anywhere  in  Wisconsin  and  find  such  a  cathe- 
dral standing.  What  does  that  prove  ?  Why !  that  the  ancient 
Indians  built  their  cathedrals  so  much  farther  back  than  the 
Gauls  that  they  have  all  disappeared.  Nothing  can  resist  the 
iron  tooth  of  time.  Now  I  think  that  this  cathedral  is  rather 
modern  than  otherwise.  [By  this  time  we  Avere  in  front  of 
the  cathedral.]  It  is  tolerably  ancient,  but  if  you  want  to 
visit  a  reaUy  old  country,  go  to  Wisconsin.  That  is  so  old  that 
everything  of  this  kind  has  disappeared  entirely." 

We  left  the  cathedral,  and  after  infinite  trouble,  owing  to 


234 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


the  fact  that  the  average  citizen  of  Kouen  is  sadly  deficient  in 
English,  found  the  statue  of  Joan  of  Arc.     The  Professor  stood 

before  it  in  an 
ecstatic  mood ; 
Tibbitts,  pro- 
foundly dis- 
gusted. 

"Who  was 
Joan  of  Arc, 
anyway?"  said 
he.  "A  dreamy 
sort  of  a  girl 
w  h  o   thought 
she  had  a  mis- 
sion.    There 
were  no  lec- 
ture courses  in 
France  in  that 
day,  and  no  lec- 
ture bureaus. 
Had  therebeen 
such  a  vent  for 
her  inspiration . 
she  would  have 
been  an  Anna 
Dickinson 
'No.  1.     She  would  have  gone  about  France  lecturing  for  any- 
where from  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  three  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  a  night,  and  would  have  made  a  pile  of  money,  and 
bought  a  place  in  fee  simple  for  her  father,  and  got  a  lot  of 
money  in  bonds ;  that's  what  she  would  have  done.     But  there 
were  no  such  facilities  for  genius  at  that  time,  and  so  she  put 
on  armor,  and  led  soldiers,  and  won  victories,  and  finally  was 
burned  at  the  stake  for  a  witch.     I  don't  see  anything  special 
to  craze  over  in  Joan.     I'm  going  back  to  the  cafe  and  put  in 
the  time  before  the  train  leaves  in  literary  pursuits.     I'll  write 
a  letter  to  my  mother.     It's  a  thousand  pities  that  we  did  n't 
go  straight  on  to  Paris,  instead  of  stopping  in  this  infernal  old 
hole.     We  might  have  got  there  in  time  to  go  to  the  Mabille 
to-night.     But  it  will  be  too  late  by  the  time  we  get  there." 


THE  PROFESSOR  STOOD  BEFORE  IT  IN  AN  ECSTATIC  MOOD. 


THE    CATIIEDKALS. 


235 


And  Tibbitts  left  us  and  returned  to  the  cafe  and  we  went 
on.  There  is  nothing  in  Rouen  that  is  not  interesting.  Sunday 
as  it  was,  the  sidewalks  in  front  of  the  numberless  cafes  were 
occupied  with  chairs,  the  white-aproned  waiters  flitting  hither 
and  thither,  serving  their  cus- 
tomers with  the  light  wines  of 
the  country;  the  market  Avas 
in  full  blast,  and  business  was 
going  on  the  same  as  any  other 
day.  There  is  no  S  u  n  d  a  y  in 
France,  that  is  as  Americans  un- 
derstand the  day. 

Due  honor  having  been  done 
to  Joan  of  Arc,  we  entered  a 
narrow,  crooked  thoroughfare, 
spanned  by  an  old  arch,  built 
hundreds  of  years  ago  to  mark 
the  spot  where  a  peasant  named 
Rouen  built  the  first  house,  erected  cathedral  of  notke  dame-rouen. 
on  the  site  that  was  destined  to  play  such  an  important  part 
in  the  subsequent  history  of  the  country. 

The  one  great  sight  of  Rouen,  however,  is  the  Cathedral  of 
Notre  Dame,  which  is  one  of  the  grandest  Gothic  edifices  in 
Normandy.  It  dates  back  to  1207, 
and  is  a  magnificent  building.  It  is 
impossible  to  describe  the  grandeur  of  | 
the  structure,  with  its  finely  carved! 
figures,  its  symmetrical  proportions, 
its  graceful  spires  and  lofty  towers. 
The  interior  is  very  fine,  the  high 
colmnns  of  white  marble  supporting 
the  roof,  which  is  formed  of  a  suc- 
cession of  arches.  Adjoining  the 
high  altar  is  the  Chapelle  du  Christ, 
containing  an  ancient,  mutilated 
figure  in  limestone  of  Richard  Coeur  ^^^^^ 
de  Leon,  discovered  in  1838.  His  heart,  which  was  interred 
in  the  choir,  was  found  at  the  same  time,  and  is  now  pre- 
served in  the  museum. 


OP  JEAN  D'  ARC— ROUEN. 


236 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


St.  Maclou  and  St.  Ouen  are  two  fine  churches  of  the  florid 
Gothic  style,  the  latter  said  to  be  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in 

r    ■ "' 


existence.     It  was  founded  in  1318,  and  completed  toward  the 
close  of  the  fifteenth  century. 

Throughout  the  entire  city  the  prevailing  style  of  architec- 
ture is  Gothic  —  the  Palais  de  Justice  being  in  late  Gothic,  and 


TIBBITTS  WRITES    A    STORY.  237 

is  a  very  handsome  building.  The  residences,  for  the  most 
part,  are  large  and  beautiful,  surrounded  by  well-kept  lawns 
and  adorned  with  flower  beds  and  fountains. 

Rouen  is  a  very  important  cotton  manufacturing  place,  and 
is  one  of  the  principal  depots  for  the  wines  of  Bordeaux.  It 
is  a  commercial  center,  too,  the  Seine  affording  a  good  harbor 
for  large  ocean  steamers,  most  of  which  are  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean trade. 

When  we  returned  we  found  Tibbitts  sitting  in  the  arbor, 
with  a  pile  of  manuscript  before  him,  and  we  asked  what 
he  had  been  doing. 

*'I  promised  the  old  gentleman,"  he  said,  "to  learn  the 
languages  of  the  countries  I  passed  through,  and  I  shall  do  it- 
I  shall  learn  French,  some  afternoon  when  I  get  time.  And 
he  requested  me  to  practice  writing  things  for  general  improve- 
ment. As  I  am  in  France  I  have  written  mother  a  letter, 
and  I  have  enclosed  in  it  a  part  of  a  chapter  of  a  story,  into 
which  I  have  jerked  a  lot  of  French  to  show  her  that  I  have 
not  wasted  my  time.  Here  it  is,  and  I  think  it's  devilish 
good ! " 

This  was  Tibbitts'  part  of  a  chapter  of  a  story : — 

"  Precisely  at  the  stroke  of  seven  the  Count  was  upon  the 
ground,  and  the  clock  had  not  ceased  to  sound  the  hour  before 
the  Marquis  appeared.  Both  threw  off  their  outer  clothing, 
and  stood  in  their  shirts,  sword  in  hand." 

"It's  an  account  of  a  French  Duel,"  explained  Tibbitts. 

'' Fromcbge  ! ''^  hissed  the  Count,  between  his  clenched  teeth. 

^^  Fromage  Gratin!''^  echoed  the  Marquis. 

The  swords  crossed  with  an  angry  clang. 

It  was  a  supreme  moment.  The  two  men  glared  at  each 
other,  each  fearing  to  hazard  a  movement.  Finally,  tired  of 
inaction,  the  Count  took  the  offensive.  His  rapier  flashed  like 
lightning.  With  an  adroit  mouton^  he  well  nigh  succeeded  in 
breaking  his  enemy's  guard,  indeed  he  would  have  done  it  but 
for  the  skill  with  which  a  marrons  glace  was  interposed. 

Both  pause  a  moment  for  breath.  Breath  is  necessary  to  a 
duelist.  The  Marquis  was  the  first  assailant.  He  delivered  a 
fierce  cotelleUe  de  veau,  which  had  stretched  many  a  tall  fellow 
on  the  sod,  followed  by  a  mayonnaise,  of  which  few  are  the 


238 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


master,  but  gnashed  his  teeth  to  find  himself  stopped  by  a 
jpov2et  a  la  Paris.     They  paused  again. 

"I  see  you  have  advantaged  by  practice  with  Yol  au 
Yent,"  said  the  Marquis.  (Yol  au  Yent  was  the  most  cele- 
brated swordsman  of  Paris.)  '"He  taught  you  the  lunge  —  I 
invented  the  parry.     We  will  resume." 

They  eyed  each  other  closely. 

"This  time  I  will  finish  him,"  said  the  Count  to  himself. 

Using  the  pomme  de  terre  as  a  feint,  he  threw  himself  with 
all  his  force  into  a  pate,  and  would  have  ended  the  contest  then 


ST.    OUEN  —  ROUEN. 


and  there,  but  that  the  Marquis  avoided  the  thrust  by  a 
poisson. 

"Ah!  ha!"  said  the  Marquis,  "I  have  had  other  masters 
than  Yol  au  Yent !  Didst  never  hear  of  Yol  au  Yent's  younger 
brother ! " 

"  A  La  Ga/rte  I "  hissed  the  Marquis. 

"  Table  D^Hote  !  "  was  the  determined  reply,  and  again  the 
swords  crossed. 

It  was  over  in  a  moment.  The  Marquis,  springing  lightly 
back  made  a  rapid  advance.     His  rapier  made  a  motion  that 


ON   THE    WAY   TO    PAKIS.  239 

was  as  quick  as  the  stroke  of  a  cobra.  It  was  as  fatal.  A 
lightning-like  potage,  to  which  the  Count  opposed  a  patisserie 
m  vain,  and  he  fell  to  the  ground  lifeless,  the  thirsty  sand 
drinking  up  his  blood. 

"  Haricot ! "  said  the  Marquis,  as  he  wiped  his  sword  as 
cooly  as  though  blood  had  never  stained  it,  and  walked  delib- 
erately away. 

"In  the  name  of  all  that's  good  what  is  all  this  about?" 
exclaimed  the  Professor.  '^  Why,  Tibbitts,  all  this  French  you 
have  taken  from  this  bill  of  fare  here.  Pomme  de  Terre, 
means  simply  potato,  and  Poisson  is  fish,  Mouton  is  mutton, 
and  Fromage  is  cheese.  You  are  not  going  to  send  this  to 
your  mother  ? " 

"Ain't  I  though!  The  good  old  girl  don't  read  French, 
and  this  will  do  just  as  well  as  any  I  ever  saw  in  anybody's 
novel.  It  shows  that  I  have  not  neglected  my  opportunities. 
Send  it?    You  bet!" 

And  he  did  fold  it,  and  put  it  into  an  envelope,  and  after 
several  frantic  endeavors  he  made  the  boy  understand  that  he 
wanted  a  postage  stamp,  and  in  the  box  it  went. 

And  now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  am  not  sure  but  that 
Tibbitts  was  right.  If  French  phrases  must  be  used  in  English 
writing,  why  not  take  them  from  a  bill  of  fare  %  So  far  as  the 
general  public  goes  they  would  do  just  as  well.  I  have  no 
doubt  but  his  French  will  pass  muster,  twelve  miles  back  of 
Oshkosh. 

Leaving  Eouen  with  its  rich  mediaeval  architecture,  its 
quaint  streets  and  lovely  parks,  we  cross  the  Seine  and  are 
whirling  along  at  a  rapid  rate  towards  Paris,  the  center  of  the 
gay  world.  As  we  approach  the  metropolis  several  beautiful 
cities  are  passed,  the  principal  one  being  Poissy,  a  town  of 
fifty  thousand  inhabitants,  which  was  the  birth  place  of  St. 
Louis,  who  frequently  styled  himself  "  Louis  de  Poissy." 

At  Asnieres,  the  Seine  is  crossed  for  the  last  time,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  Cluney  is  reached,  and  away  over  to  the  right  may 
be  seen  the  tomb  of  l^apoleon,  its  gilt  dome  sparkling  in  the 
sunlight.  Here  we  pass  the  fortifications  and  in  another  brief 
interval  are  in  the  station  at  Rue  St.  Lazarre,  and  before  us  with, 
all  its  beauty  is  Paris. 


240 


NASBY   IN    EXILE. 


THE   SHOWMAN  IN  PARIS. 


In  Paris  the  first  American  I  met  was  Bloss,  my  circus 
friend.     He  had  succeeded  in  getting  his  "wonder"  in  Ger- 
many, and  in  Switzerland  he 
had  purchased  two  bears, 
which  he  had  with  him. 

'^They  are  probably  the 
greatest  wonders  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,"  he  remarked. 
"  Garsong,  two  cognacs,  lo. 
I  am  pretty  well  up  in  French. 
I  hev  got  so  sence  I  hev  bin 
here  that  I  kin  order  my 
drinks  without  any  trouble, 
and  that's  the  main  pint. 
Them  bears  are  something 
inscrutable.  They  kin  waltz 
on  their  hind  legs ;  they  kin 
fire  pistols,  and  will  work  in  splendid  with  my  Injuns.  But 
what  is  more  wonderful,  they  kin  ride  a  horse,  ef  the  pad  is 
made  big  enuff.  And  that's  where  I'm  goin'  to  fetch  the 
public.  To  yootilize  bears  I'm  goin'  to  present  a  grand  scrip- 
tooral  spectacle.  The  public  want  moral  amoosement,  and  the 
public  is  goin'  to  hev  it  now  till  they  can't  rest.  Them  bears  is 
what  is  goin'  to  do  it.  I  shel  present  the  unparalleled  spectacle 
uv  Elijah  and  the  bears  eatin  the  children,  all  on  bosses.  Come 
to  think  of  it,  wuz  it  Elijah,  or  Elisha?  I've  forgotten,  and 
must  read  it  up  afore  I  git  it  on  the  biUs.  When  yoo  hev  a 
scrip tooral  spectacle  yoo  want  be  very  akerit  on  the  biUs. 

"  It  will  be  the  gorgusest  thing  ever  seen.  Elijah  —  Fog- 
garty  kin  ride  well  enough  to  do  Elijah,  and  I  got  a  dozen  kids 
in  the  company,  mostly  tumblin',  wich  will  anser  for  the  chil- 
dren. Elijah,  perfectly  bald-headed,  will  ride  in  on  a  black 
boss  to  slow  moosic,  a  sort  uv  Scriptural  waltz  ez  it  were.  The 
kids  will  ride  in  on  spotted  ponies  and  shout,  all  in  chorus, 
"Go  up  bald  head!"  Then  the  two  bears  —  they  ain't  she 
bears,  but  that's  no  difference  —  will  come  in  on  white  bosses, 
and  chase  the  children.  Then  the  band  will  play  furious 
moosic,  jist  ez  they  do  at  the  finish  of  a  tumblin  act,  and  the 
bears  will  each  snatch  a  kid  off  his  pony  by  the  belt  and  ride  out. 


THE    SHOWMAN  S    SCHEME. 


241 


"  But  the  children  were  eaten  by  the  bears  ? " 
"  Cert.  But  suthin  must  be  left  to  the  imagginashen. 
BealisixL  is  all  well  enough,  but  it  kin  be  carried  too  fur.  The 
cliildren  will  all  rush  out  and  the  eatin  will  be  supposed  to  have 
taken  place  outside.  I  can't  afford  to  feed  them  bears  on  chil- 
dren every  afternoon  and  evenin'.  It  would  draw,  no  doubt, 
but  I  couldn't  afford  sich  a  luxury.     But  the  spectacle  will 


BLOSS'   GREAT  MORAL  EQUESTRIAN  SPECTACLE. 

draw.  It  will  fetch  the  religious  people.  They  disapprove  of 
the  circus,  as  a  rool,  but  they  will  all  come  to  see  a  great  moral 
lesson,  illustrated.  To  see  this  great  moral  lesson,  they  will 
come  early  so  as  to  get  good  seats,  and  when  it  is  over  they 
won't  go  till  the  show  is  out.  To  accommodate  their  prejoo- 
disses  and  give  'em  the  hull  show  I  shel  hev  it  put  on  the  last 
thing,  for  once  in  they  w^on't  leave  tiU  they  see  the  moral 
spectacle.  To  see  this  they'll  shock  theirselves  with  Madem- 
oiselle Blanche  on  the  tight  rope,  in  tights.  You've  got  to 
have  a  moral  show,  and  these  bears  will  lay  over  anything  on 
16 


242 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


the  road,  becoz  it's  not  only  moral,  but  it's  actilly  scriptooral. 

I'm  after  a  lot  uv  attracshens  here.     There's  a  sword  svvallerer 

that  I  think  I  kin  git,  and  I  know 
uv  a  lot  uv  the  loveliest  anacondas 
that  ever  went  under  a  canvas." 

The  old  gentleman  by  this  time 
had  consumed  a  half  dozen  brandies 
and  water,  and  was  becoming  inco- 
herent. The  waiter  knew  him  so 
well  that  whenever  his  glass  was 
empty  he  filled  it  without  orders,  all 
of  which  he  approved,  as  it  saved 
wrenching  himself  with  French. 
"  Bong  G-arsong,"  he  remarked  as  he 

TOWER  OF  ST.  PIERRE— CAEN.    ^CUt    oS    lutO  a  doze. 


OLD  HOUSES— ROUEN. 


CHAPTER  XYII. 


A    SCATTEKING    VIEW    OF    PAEIS. 


"When  an  enlightened  public  sentiment  drove  the  pirates 
from  the  high  seas,  and  compelled  them  to  seek  other  methods 
of  supplying  themselves  with  means  for  the  enjoyment  of 
luxury,  I  am  convinced  that  every  one  of  them  came  to 
Europe,  and  went  into  the  hotel  business.  A  few  of  them 
might  have  got  hotels  in  America,  but  the  vast  majority  came 
here.  I  did  come  across  one  at  the  Gorge  de  Triente,  in 
Switzerland,  who  might  not  have  been  a  pirate,  or,  if  he  was, 
he  was  either  a  mild  one,  or,  being  now  very  old,  is  endeavor- 
ing to  patch  up  his  old  body  for  heaven.  I  am  inclined  to  the 
belief  that  he  was  a  pirate,  but  not  of  the  sentimental  order 
who  shed  human  gore  for  the  love  of  it;  that  when  his 
schooner,  the  "  Mary  Jane,"  captured  a  prize,  he  only  killed 
such  of  her  crew  as  were  necessary,  in  the  action,  and  after 
the  vessel  had  surrendered  he  did  not  make  the  survivors 
walk  the  plank  for  the  amusement  of  his  men,  but  merci- 
fully set  them  adrift  in  an  open  boat,  without  water  or 
provisions.  That's  the  kind  of  pirate  he  was.  And  since  he 
has  been  a  landlord,  he  does  not  take  every  dollar  you  have  — 
he  leaves  you  enough  to  get  to  the  next  bank,  where  your 
letter  of  credit  is  available.  I  shall  always  remember  this 
landlord.     He  is  an  ornament  to  his  sex. 

But  the  first  hotel  we  encountered  in  Paris  had  for  a  land- 
lord one  who  must  have  commanded  the  long,  low,  black 
schooner,  "The  Terror  of  the  Seas,"  who  never  spared  a 
prisoner,  or  gave  quarter  to  anybody,  but  who  hove  overboard 
for  the  sharks  every  human  being  he  captured,  without  refer- 
ence to  age,  sex,  or  previous  condition  of  servitude.  Indeed,  I 
think  that  after  he  was  driven  from  the  seas,  he  took  a  shy  at 

(243) 


244  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

highway  robbery  before  taking  his  hotel  in  Paris,  thus  fitting 
himself  thoroughly  for  his  profession. 

"  Ze  room  will  be  ten  francs,  messieurs,"  was  the  remark  of 
the  polite  villain  who  showed  us  our  apartments. 

^'  We,  we^''  we  cheerfully  replied,  for  the  room  was  worth 
it.  We  said  "  we,  we^''  that  the  gentleman  might  know  that 
we  understood  French,  and  that  he  need  not  unnecessarily 
strand  himself  upon  the  rocks  of  the  English  language. 

Eut  the  next  morning!  The  bill  was  made  out,  and  as 
we  glanced  at  it  we  forgave  the  English  landlords  —  every 
one  of  them.  Apartment  ten  francs,  candles,  or  "bougies," 
as  the  barbarous  French  call  them,  two  and  one-half  francs; 
attendance  (we  had  not  seen  a  servant),  two  and  a  half  francs 
each,  five  francs.  Then  there  were  charges  for  hquors  enough 
for  Bloss,  the  American  showman,  not  a  particle  of  which  had 
been  ordered  or  had  been  brought  to  our  room,  and  so  on. 

We  expostulated,  but  when  we  commenced  that,  the  clerk 
began  to  talk  in  French,  and  as  all  the  French  we  had  between 
us  was  ^^we,  w<?,"  he  had  rather  the  advantage.  In  reply  to 
some  question  he  appeared  to  be  asking,  we  said,  '-^  we,  we^'' 
whereupon  he  dropped  back  into  Enghsh  promptly,  and  said 
that  inasmuch  as  we  admitted  that  the  bill  was  right,  why 
did  n't  we  pay  it  ?     That  "  we,  we  "  was  our  ruin. 

"A  little  knowledge  is  a  dangerous  thing; 
Drink  deep  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring." 

Were  we  over  with  it  %  By  no  means.  As  we  were  ready 
to  file  down  the  stairs  there  came  to  our  various  rooms  more 
porters  than  we  ever  supposed  lived,  each  of  whom  seized  a 
piece  of  .baggage,  when  one  might  well  have  carried  it  all. 
We  discovered,  finally,  what  that  meant.  Those  who  did  not 
carry  baggage  stood  grinning  in  the  passages,  with  their  hands 
extended,  and  those  who  did  expected  each  a  franc.  As  we 
had  passed  the  concierge,  who  had  certainly  been  no  earthly 
use  to  us,  his  hand  was  extended,  and  to  crown  the  whole  and 
have  it  lack  nothing,  a  chambermaid  came  running  to  me  with 
a  handkerchief  which  "  Monsieur  had  left  in  his  room,"  and  out 
went  her  hand.  The  brazen  hussy  had  abstracted  it  from  my 
vahse,  and  held  it  till  the  last  moment,  that  she  might  have 
some  excuse  for  a  gratuity. 


THE    rSES    OF    SPECTACLES. 


245 


Tibbitts  and  the  others  shed  silver  freely,  but  the  Professor 
did  not.  Entrenched  behind  his  spectacles  he  did  not  catch 
the  eye  of  one  of  them,  and  he  stalked  majestically  through 
the  lot,  turning  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left  till  he  was 
safely  ensconced  in  his  fiacre.  That  pair  of  spectacles  saved 
him  at  least  their  cost  that  day.     I  shall  wear  them  hereafter. 


THE  professor's  SPECTACLES. 


They  are  good  for  this  purpose,  and  then  one  behind  this  wall 
of  glass  can  look  another  man  in  the  eye  steadily  when  he  is 
enlarging  on  facts.  Spectacles  have  uses  beside  aiding  the 
vision. 

We  paid  everybody  and  everything,  and  departed  sadly. 
'No  matter  how  joyously  you  enter  a  French  hotel,  you  walk 
out  to  the  music,  mentally,  of  the  Dead  March  in  Saul.  But 
what  are  yon  going  to  do  about  it  ?  You  cannot  sleep  in  the 
streets,  and  you  must  eat,  and  the  pirates  have  you  in  an  iron 
grip,  and  they  realize  the  strength  and  impregnability  of  their 
position. 


246 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


Paris  is  another  octopus,  differing  from  London  onl}^  in  the 
quality  and  style  of  its  feelers,  London  has  been  built  up 
by  main  strength,  that  being  its  characteristic,  Paris  has  as 
many  feelers  as  London,  and  they  are  perhaps  as  strong  and 
far-reaching ;  but  they  are  wrapped  in  velvet.  It  is  a  rather 
pleasant  thing  to  be  devoured  by  the  French  octopus.  He 
does  not  rend  you  limb  from  limb,  like  the  English  one,  but 
he  holds  you  just  as  firmly,  and  sucks  your  life  blood  in  so 
delightful  a  way,  that  you  rather  like  the  operation. 

Paris  is  the  city  of  luxury,  'No  matter  where  you  go,  nor 
among  vrhat  class  of  people,  you  see  but  two  things  —  a  vast 
population  catering  to  sensualism,  and  another  vast  population 
paying  the  price  for  it. 

The  difference  between  London  and  Paris  is  shown  even  in 
its  proprietary  medicines.      In   London  the  walls  groan,   or 

would  if  they  could,  under 
announcements  of  liver  medi- 
cines ;  in  Pans  the  walls  of 
corresponding  conspicuousness 
are  covered  with  advertise- 
ments of  articles  for  the  hair 
and  complexion.  A  French 
woman  will  get  on  with  al- 
most any  kind  of  a  liver,  but 
she  must  have  hair  to  her 
heels,  and  a  complexion  that 
is  faultless.  No  matter  what 
kind  of  underclothing  she  has 
on,  or  no  matter  if  she  has  n't 
any,  the  outside  must  be 
dressed  in  elegance  and  taste. 
Paris  lives  largely  for  the  eye. 
The  city  is  made  up  of  two  distinct  parts  —  the  old  and 
new.  Old  Paris,  the  Paris  of  Sue,  and  Dumas,  and  Yictor 
Hugo,  still  exists,  and  its  people  are  precisely  the  same  as  ^vhen 
these  authors  wrote  of  them.  You  leave  the  most  splendid 
streets  in  the  world,  w4de,  and  paved  like  floors,  with  enor- 
mous rows  of  palatial  structures  on  either  hand,  as  modern  as 
modern  can  be,   and  in  fifteen   minutes   you  are   in  narrow, 


OLD  PARIS. 


OLD    AND    NEW    PAKIS. 


247 


walls;   with   the   quaintest 


crooked  alleys,  with  the  quaint  old  houses  on  either  hand,  six 
and  seven  stories  in  height,  \V"ith  all  sorts  of  gables,  all  sorts 
of  deformities  in  the  matter  of 
and  most  curious 
passages,  and 
paved  with  the 
boulders  which  the 
Parisian  of  twenty 
or  thirty  years 
since  found  so  use- 
ful in  constructing 
barricades  when 
they  had  their  reg- 
ular monthly  revo- 
lution. And  you 
see  the  same  men 
and  women  who 
fought  behind 
these  barricades, 
and  who  will  do  it 
again  —  the  wine 
shop  politicians, 
who  believe  in 
"  liberty,  fraternity 
and  equality"  to- 
day, and  accept  an 
empire  to-morrow 
for  a  change.  A 
Parisian  cannot  d' 
endure 
even  in 
ment. 

Possibly  he  ac- 
cepts im.perialism, 
now  and  then,  just 
for  the  pleasure  of 
overturning  it. 

But  the  new  Paris  is  quite  another  thing.     All  Paris  was, 
not  many  years  ago,  like  the  portions  of  the  Latin  Quarter 


monotony, 
a  govern- 


'LIBERTY,   FRATERNITY,   EQUALITY. 


248 


NASBY   IN    EXILE. 


and  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  but  the  Third  I^apoleon 
intended  to  be  Emperor  all  his  life,  and  these  crooked  streets 
were  not  good  for  Imperial  artillery,  and  the  pavements  were 
easily  torn  up  for  barricades.  So  he  called  to  himself  Baron 
Haussman,  the  prefect  of  the  Seine,  and  said,  "  We  will  recon- 
struct Paris."  ^he  Baron,  thoroughly  devoted  to  the  Emperor, 
and  himself,  cahed  about  him  the  best  talent  in  the  world,  and 
the  work  was  begun. 

But  be  it  understood  that  the  Baron  and  the  Emperor  did 
not  go  about  this  work  carelessly.     The  Baj:'on,  whose  ances- 


NEW  PARIS  — BOULEVARD  DES  ITALIENS. 

tors  were  Israelites,  had  all  the  thrift  of  that  remarkable  race, 
and  Napoleon  was  not  much  behind  him.  Whenever  they 
decided  upon  tearing  down  the  whole  quarter  and  a  score  of 
crooked  streets,  and  constructing  a  boulevard  wider  than  the 
widest  street  in  New  York,  they  had  an  agent  who,  before  the 
design  was  made  pubhc,  went  and  purchased  the  entire  prop- 
erty at  the  market  rate.  Then  came  the  necessary  legal  steps 
for  the  condemnation  of  the  property,  and  the  payment  there- 


HOW    THE    NEW    PARIS    WAS  "MADE.  249 

for  by  the  city.  The  new  owner  was  allowed  twenty  or  thirty 
times  for  it  above  what  he  paid,  and  vast  sums  were  by  this 
simple  process  turned  into  the  Emperor's  private  exchequer  and 
added  to  the  already  vast  estate  of  the  astute  Baron. 

The  Emperor  used  his  share  of  the  plunder  in  amusing  the 
Parisians,  but  the  Baron's  share  is  still  in  his  family. 

There  are  Tweeds  in  every  country,  but  these  were  greater 
than  our  great  peculator.  The  Emperor  l^apoleon  and  Baron 
Haussman  were  just  as  much  greater  than  Tweed  as  France  is 
greater  than  the  single  city  of  IsTew  York.  But  then  their 
opportunities  were  greater.  Had  Tweed  had  a  chance  he  might 
have  risen  to  the  front  rank. 

It  is  perhaps  as  well  for  Paris  that  it  had  an  Emperor,  and 
possibly  it  would  have  been  better  for  the  United  States  had 
she  had  a  King  in  her  earher  days.  For  a  repubhc  will  never 
do  toward  the  beautifying  a  city  or  country  what  an  Emperor 
will.  I  helped  to  elect  a  member  of  Congress  once,  who,  find- 
ing that  a  single  door  in  the  Capitol  at  Washington  cost  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  exclaimed  against  the  extravagance  of  the 
country.  "  "Why,"  said  he,  "  a  good  two  inch  pine  plank  door, 
painted  white,  with  three  coats  of  paint,  can  be  had  in  Upper 
Sandusky  for  eight  dollars,  and  it  would  do  just  as  well  as  this 
infernal  bronze  thing  covered  all  over  with  figures." 

Had  Paris  been  governed  by  a  Congress,  the  honorable 
gentlemen  from  ISTormandy,  and  Savoy,  and  other  out-lying 
districts,  would  never  have  paid  for  the  wonderfully  beautiful 
boulevards,  that  make  Paris  the  most  beautiful  city  in  the 
world.  The  old  alleys  were  good  enough  for  their  fathers, 
and  why  not  for  the  present  generation? 

But  the  will  of  a  single  man  did  it,  and  the  memory  of 
that  man  is  still  worshiped  in  Paris.  Dead  though  he  be,  he 
wields  power  in  Paris  to-day,  and  had  not  his  son  been  so 
reckless  in  Africa,  the  chances  are  a  hundred  to  one  that  he 
would  to-day  be  occupying  his  father's  throne. 

l^ew  Paris  is  made  up  of  beautiful  wide  boulevards,  some 
of  them  two  hundred  feet  wide,  with  sidewalks  at  least  thirty 
feet  wide  on  either  side,  and  lined  with  shops  and  cafes,  the 
shops  devoted  almost  entirely  to  the  sale  of  articles  of  luxury. 

The  cafes  are  very  peculiar.     Paris  lives,  as  much  as  possi- 


250 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


ble,  out  of  doors,  for  Paris  desires  to  see  and  be  seen.  There- 
fore, in  front  of  every  cafe,  under  tasteful  awnings,  are  chairs 
and  little  white  sheet  iron  tables ;  there  sits  Paris,  drinking  its 
drinks  and  eating  its  light  repasts,  from  early  morning  till  very 
late  at  night. 

To  an  American  it  is  a  most  peculiar  sight.     'No  matter 
where  you  go,  in  old  Paris  or  new,  it  is  the  same,  except  in  the 

^^SB^"^       ^?L       ffrade  of   the 


people.  In 
old  Paris 
you  see  blue 
blouses  and 
calico  dresses 
at  these  ta- 
bles, and  in 
new  Paris 
broadcloth 
and  silk,  but 
the  tables  are 
there  on  the 
sidewalk,  and 
the  people 
sitting  by 
them,  the 
same  in  one 
as  in  the 
other,  and 
very  jolly 
they  are. 
Paris  is 
ithe  most  tem- 

THE   LOUVRE  FROM   THE  RUE  DE  RIVOLI.  J^CratC  clty  OU 

the  globe.  There  is  as  great  a  quantity  of  liquids  consumed 
as  in  London,  and  perhaps  more,  but  it  is  a  different  kind. 
The  Frenchman  drinks  the  light  wines  of  the  country,  or 
curious  compounds  of  stuff  that  are  as  innocent  as  milk,  so 
far  as  intoxication  goes.  He  has  syrups  something  like  those 
the  American  druggist  uses  in  his  alleged  soda  water,  and  he 
either  mixes  that  with  pure  w^ater  and  makes  his  heart  glad, 


DRINKmG    IN    PARIS.  251 

or,  if  he  is  particular  about  it,  he  mixes  it  with  Seltzer  water 
from  the  gushing  syphon.  There  are  vast  varieties  of  these 
sjn^'ups,  but  they  are  all  alike  except  in  the  matter  of  flavor. 

Occasionally  one  rushes  to  the  extreme  of  dissipation  and 
stupefies  himself  with  German  lager  beer,  but  as  a  rule  it  is 
either  wine  or  these  syrups. 

Of  course  there  are  French  drunkards.  The  brain-anni- 
hilating absinthe  obtains  here,  and  a  seductive  fluid  it  is.  It 
is  the  most  innocent  tasting  stuff  in  the  world,  and  does  not 
affect  one  immediately.  And  so  the  ignorant  stranger,  on  his 
first  introduction  to  it,  takes  dose  after  dose  of  it,  and  goes 
home  wondering  why  people  are  so  mortally  in  dread  of 
absinthe.  In  the  still  watches  of  the  night  he  becomes 
convinced  that  he  has  been  taking  something,  and  the  next 
morning  he,  or  his  friends,  are  entirely  sure  of  it.  For  in  the 
morning  he  is  drunk,  drunk  clear  through,  and  he  generally 
manages  to  stay  so  for  some  days.  Tibbitts,  whose  experience 
I  am  relating,  said  it  was  much  cheaper  than  Oshkosli  whisky, 
for  one  night's  sitting  at  absinthe  lasted  him  a  week.  There 
is  a  vast  quantity  of  absinthe  consumed  in  Paris,  but  it  is  done 
quietly  and  in  great  moderation.  An  American  or  foreigner 
who  likes  it  drinks  it  immoderately,  and  pays  the  penalty  of 
his  folly.  The  Frenchman  knows  exactly  how  much  is  safe 
for  him,  and  very  rarely  exceeds  his  hmit. 

I  have  seen  but  one  drunken  man  in  Paris,  and  he  was 
either  an  Englishman,  or  an  American  who  had  been  long 
enough  in  London  to  get  spoiled.  He  spoke  English,  and  from 
the  style  of  his  clothes  I  should  take  him  for  an  Enghshman, 
but  there  was  an  especial  wobble  in  his  step  that  proclaimed 
the  American.  I  have  seen  the  same  a  great  many  times  in 
my  beloved  country. 

Drunkenness  is  impossible  on  these  innocent  liquids.  The 
wine  of  the  country  is  consumed  everywhere  and  in  large 
quantities,  and  its  use  by  all  ages  and  sexes  is  unrestricted. 

It  is  on  every  table  for  breakfast  and  dinner,  and  is  every- 
where the  substitute  for  tea  and  coffee.  Containing  as  it  does 
a  very  small  proportion  of  alcohol,  and  as  that  is  diluted  fully 
a  half  with  water,  it  cannot  be  a  very  dangerous  beverage. 
At  all  events,  the  French  —  men,  women,  and  children, —  drink 


252 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


it  in  great  quantities  at  all  hours,  and  intoxication  does  not 
ensue.     Outdoor  sitting  is  made  possible  by  the  harmlessness  of 


A  BOTTLEVAHD   CAFE  —  OUTSIDE. 


their  accustomed  drinks.     The  climate  of   New  York  is  well 
adapted  to  this  sort  of  thing,  but  were  Broadway  lined  with 


WINE    AND    WHISKY. 


253 


these  cafes,  with  the  public  sitting  at  the  small  tables,  how  long 
would  it  be  before  a  gang  of  ruffians,  filled  with  the  frightful 
whisky  of  the  country,  would  swoop  down  upon  them  and 
scatter  tables  and  people.  A  gang  from  the  Bowery,  filled 
with  the  fighting  whisky  of  America,  or  the  soul-searing  brandy 
of  the  British  land,  turned  loose  upon  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens, 
or  any  other  boulevard' in  Paris,  would  occasion  as  much  terror 


v^ 


A  COSTUME  BY  WORTH  — THAT  COSTS. 

as  a  Communist  insurrection.  But  with  the  fight  wines  of 
France,  and  the  quiet  plea  sure- seeking  and  pleasure-enjoying 
disposition  of  the  Parisian,  everything  is  as  quiet  and  orderly 
as  could  be  desired. 

There  cannot  be  in  city  life  any  sight  so  bewilderingly  gor- 


254 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


geous  or  so  delightful  as  the  boulevards,  either  by  day  or  night. 
The  streets  are  lined  with  beautiful  trees,  and  then  the  shops 
and  cafes  are  exquisitely  beautiful,  as  are  their  contents.  As  I 
said,  the  shops  are  ahnost  entirely  devoted  to  the  sale  of  articles 
of  luxury,  for  the  Frenchman,  acute  being  that  he  is,  discovered 
thousands  of  years  ago,  that  a  profit  of  five  hundred  per  cent, 
may  be  made  upon  articles  of  fancy ;  while  the  dealer  in  things 
essential,  which  may  not  be  dispensed  with  —  articles  of  prime 
necessity  —  obtains  a  beggarly  ten  or  twenty.  He  learned  cen- 
turies since  that  Madame  will  pay  any  price  for  a  hat  that 
pleases  her  taste,  and  do  it  without  question,  while  she  will 

i  liC 


Mm-M: 


R5i!J;Ji!;Vr--F'-^^^^ 


A  MAGAZINE   ON  THE  BOULEVARD. 


haggle  an  hour  over  the  price  of  twenty  pounds  of  sugar  or  a 
cut  of  beef.  He  who  deals  in  necessities  must  find  his  reward 
in  the  consciousness  of  honesty.  Plis  customers  will  not  let 
him  be  anything  else. 

You  shall  see  shop  windows  filled  with  jewels  that  might 
well  hang  about  the  neck  of  royalty  —  indeed,  so  costly  that 
only  he  or  she  who  has  an  empire  to  tax  can  afford  them  — 
shops  devoted  to  the  sale  of  pipes,  the  price  of  which,  some  of 
them,  go  up  into  thousands  of  francs;  galleries  of  pictures, 
magazines  of  bronzes,  and  all  kinds  and  descriptions  of  statu- 


THOMPSON,    OF    TERRE    HAUTE.  255 

ary,  and  the  thousands  upon  thousands  of  costly  nothings  with 
which  rich  people  adorn  their  homes.  Artistic  paper  hangings 
ornamental  work  in  leathers,  and  every  other  material ;  shops 
for  the  sale  of  everything  that  is  ornamental  in  w^omen's  wear, 
and,  in  a  word,  everything  that  delights  the  eye,  but  w^hich 
humanity,  but  for  its  vanity  and  longing  for  the  beautiful, 
could  do  without  as  well  as  not. 

And  an  enormous  trade  these  caterers  to  the  non-useful 
carry  on.  The  whole  world  comes  to  Paris  for  these  things, 
and  they  bring  their  money  with  them  for  this  purpose  and 
expect  to  spend  it. 

Woe  to  the  American,  man  or  woman,  who  ventures  into 
these  shops.  The  shopman  knows  the  moment  he  enters  that 
the  coming  victim  who  is  rushing  upon  his  doom  is  an  Amer- 
ican ;  he  knows  that  he  has  so  much  money  to  leave  with  him, 
and  no  matter  how  much  knowledge  he  affects,  that  he  is  as 
ignorant  of  the  real  value  of  his  wares  as  a  babe  unborn. 

What  should  the  citizen  of  Terre  Haute,  Ind.,  know  of  the 
value  of  bronzes  ?  ISTothing,  w^hatever.  But  he  has  just  made 
a  good  speculation  in  pork,  and  he  has  built  him  a  tw^o-story 
house,  with  a  Mansard  roof  on  it,  and  has  furnished  it  gor- 
geously with  upholstered  chairs,  and  on  his  floors  he  has  laid 
Brussels  carpets,  and  his  wife  and  he  are  taking  their  first  visit 
"  abroad."  Mrs.  Thompson  is  determined  to  astonish  her  female 
friends  and  excite  their  envy  with  some  "  statoos"  from  "  Paree," 
and  she  is  going  to  do  it.  The  pair  look  critically  through  the 
assortment.  They  object  to  the  Yenus  of  Milo,  because  the 
arms  are  lacking,  and  are  surprised  that  an  imperfect  sort  of 
second-hand  work  of  art  of  that  kind  can't  be  had  at  a  reduced 
price.  The  price  of  a  picture  takes  their  breath  away,  and 
Mr.  Thompson  suggests  that  a  few  pairs  of  chromos  can  be  had 
a  great  deal  cheaper,  and  he  thinks  they  will  make  a  better 
show  than  the  paintings  that  are  shown  them.  Perhaps  he  is 
right,  when  the  paintings  that  are  shown  him  are  critically 
considered.  But  Mrs.  T.  will  have  none  of  the  chromo  busi- 
ness. She  will  have  some  works  of  art  from  "Paree,"  and 
Mr.  T.,  fired  with  ambition,  assents,  and  the  "works  of  art" 
are  bought  and  paid  for  at  anywhere  from  four  to  ten  times 
their  value,  and  they  retire  with  them  grieved  and  yet  satis- 


256 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


fied  —  grieved  at  the  hole  the  purchase  has  made  in  their 
pocket-book,  and  satisfied  to  think  what  a  sensation  the  pur- 
chase will  make  when  they  are  displayed  in  their  home  in  the 
West.  Thompson  anticipates  the  pleasure  of  calling  the  atten- 
tion of  his  guests  to  these  wonders,  and  remarking  casually,  as 
though  he  were  a  regular  patron  of  art,  ''  Oh,  them !  They 
are  a  few  little  things  I  bought  in  Paree,  the  last  time  I  was 
over.  They  are  nothing.  I  only  paid  four  thousand  francs  for 
the  pair.  I  shall  buy  more  when  I  go  over  again.  I  really 
hadn't  time  to  look  around." 

And  then  Mrs.  T.  must  have  a  Parisian  watch,  and  some 
jewelry,  and  the  dealer  sells  them  to  her  at  a  very  large  advance 

over  what  a  Pari- 
sian would  pay, 
and  when  they  are 
gone,  loaded  with 
their  absurd  pur- 
chases, he  falls 
upon  his  knees 
and  prays  for  good 
crops  in  America, 
aud  a  more  plenti- 
ful rush  of  visitors. 
They  are  his  wheat 
fields. 

The  difference 
between  the  Eng- 
lish and  French  is 
admirably  illus- 
trated by  two  inci- 
dents somewhat 

ME.  THOMPSON'S  ART  PURCHASES.  ^.^^^^     .^    ^^^^^^^ 

It  was  our  fortune  to  be  in  London  on  the  occasion  of  the  cele- 
bration of  the  Queen's  birthday,  a  time  that  is  always  made  a 
general  holiday  by  all  classes.  Business  was  suspended,  and 
every  one  gave  himself  up  to  pleasure  —  the  kind  of  amuse- 
ment that  the  Londoner  considers  pleasure.  The  bands  were 
out,  the  military  paraded,  and  all  the  parks  were  filled  vdth 
people  in  holiday  attire. 


A    HOLIDAY   IN    LONDON.  257 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on  it  became  apparent  that  there 
was  some  agency  at  work  aside  from  devotion  to  royalty. 
There  was  a  boisterousness  that  savored  of  strong  beer  and  still 
stronger  gin.  The  crowd  of  men  and  women  who  thronged 
the  Strand  and  Eegent  street,  and  Piccadilly,  laughed  and 
shouted,  not  with  the  merry  ring  of  pure  pleasure,  but  with 
the  maudhn  utterances  of  semi-drunkenness. 

In  the  evening  there  was  a  grand  illumination  of  the  gov- 
ernment buildings,  the  clubs  and  the  prominent  business  houses. 
The  streets  were  thronged  with  people — men,  women,  and 
children  —  all  elbowing  their  way  along,  eager  to  see  all  that 
was  to  be  seen,  and  willing  to  give  no  one  an  opportunity  they 
themselves  could  not  enjoy.  It  was  a  motley  crowd,  composed 
of  all  classes.  The  well-dressed  shopman  was  jostled  by  the  rag- 
picker ;  and  ragged,  homeless  girls,  arm  in  arm,  shoved  aside 
the  elderly  matron,  who  had  come  out  with  her  children  to  see 
the  illuminations.  There  were  all  classes  and  conditions  of 
people,  and  they  raved  and  tore  about  more  like  escaped  luna- 
tics than  the  staid,  sober  Britons  they  pride  themselves  upon 
being. 

A  walk  down  Pall  Mall  was  almost  worth  one's  life.  On 
this  thoroughfare  are  located  the  principal  clubs  of  London, 
and  as  they  were  rather  brilliantly  lighted  with  gas  jets  arranged 
in  fanciful  designs,  the  crowd  flocked  there  to  see  them.  The 
street  was  actually  packed  from  curb  to  curb,  so  that  locomo- 
tion was  difiicult.  The  illuminations  were  not  on  a  scale  grand 
enough  to  merit  all  this  outpouring  of  people,  this  great  hub- 
bub, this  drunkenness  and  gin-incited  hilarity.  For  the  most 
part  the  designs  were  simply  the  English  coat  of  arms,  with 
the  letters  "  Y.  R."  on  each  side,  the  whole  being  done  in  plain 
gas  jets.  Occasionally  some  thriving  shop-keeper,  who  had 
made  a  little  something  from  the  Royal  family,  would  branch 
out  a  little  more  extensively,  and  use  tiny  glass  shades  of  differ- 
ent colors,  over  his  gas.  But  it  was  dreary  beyond  measure. 
The  streets  were  dark  and  gloomy,  the  air  was  close,  and  the 
so-called  illuminations  were  so  very,  very  meager  that  they 
made  the  general  effect  only  more  dismal. 

Yet  the  people  surged  up  and  down  the  streets,  hurrahing 
and  shouting  for  the  Queen,  for  the  Prince  of  Wales,  for  the 
17 


358  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Boyal  family,  for  themselves,  for  anybody  they  could  thirds:  of. 
The  public  houses  were  open  long  after  other  places  of  business 
were  closed,  and  there  was  a  constant  stream  of  thirsty  people 
gliding  from  behind  the  half-closed  doors  out  upon  the  street 
to  yell  until  another  dram  became  necessary.  The  customers 
were  not  lunited  to  the  sterner  sex  by  any  manner  of  means. 
There  were  crowds  of  young  girls  ranging  from  fourteen  to 
twenty,  poor  working  girls,  who  had  saved  all  of  their  scant 
earnings  they  could  in  anticipation  of  this  holiday,  who  boldly 
pushed  their  way  with  a  coarse  laugh,  through  the  crowd  of 
men  and,  standing  at  the  bar,  would  call  for  and  drink  their 
bitter  beer,  or  ale,  or  stout,  or  gin,  even,  ^^ith  all  the  effrontery 
of  an  old  toper.  And  old  women  there  were  too,  who  would 
quietly  glide  into  the  compartments  marked  "  private  bar,"  and 
there  drink  their  brandy  or  Irish  whisky.  Throughout  it  all 
there  seemed  to  be  a  dogged  determination  to  become  intoxi- 
cated, just  as  though  there  could  be  no  pleasure,  the  Queen's 
birthday  could  not  be  celebrated  properly,  unless  every  one 
filled  himself  up  with  ardent  spirits. 

As  it  grew  later,  the  crowds  increased  both  in  size  and  dis- 
order. Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  most  of  the  illumina- 
tions had  been  extinguished,  the  masses  had  had  a  taste,  and 
they  wanted  more.  They  became  momentarily  ruder  and 
more  boisterous.  As  the  time  approached  for  the  closing  of 
the  publics,  the  crowd  received  fresh  installments  of  the  worse 
class  of  women,  and  then  drunken  women  tried  to  do  worse 
than  the  drunken  men,  and  they  succeeded.  A  woman  thor- 
oughly under  the  influence  of  liquor  is  something  simply  terri- 
ble to  see,  and  here  we  saw  it.  On  that  night  the  air  rang 
with  their  ribald  jokes  and  coarse  songs,  as  they  jostled  each 
other  in  their  unsteady  walk. 

This,  it  must  be  remembered,  is  not  a  scene  that  occurred 
down  in  Cheapside,  or  in  the  Seven  Dials,  or  the  streets  down 
near  the  river.  No,  indeed.  Pall  Mall,  one  of  the  most  aris- 
tocratic streets  in  London,  Hegent  street,  the  Broadway  of 
London,  Piccadilly,  the  Haymarket,  these  were  the  scenes  of 
this  frightful  display,  and  evidently  nothing  was  thought  of 
it.  The  police  made  no  arrests,  and  did  not  seem  to  know  that 
there  was  anything  occurring  that  was  not  perfectly  allowable 


A   HOLIDAY    IN   PAEI8. 


259 


and  justifiable.  So  the  wild  debauch  went  on  all  night,  and  it 
was  not  until  the  gray  light  made  its  appearance  in  the  east 
that  the  city  quieted  down  and  the  streets  no  longer  echoed 
with  the  maudlin  cries  of  the  host  of  people  who  celebrated 


THE  AMERICAN  PARTY  OUTSIDE  A  CAF±  ON  THE  BOULEVARD. 

in  their  own  peculiar  style  the  anniversary  of  their  Queen's 
birthday. 

How  entirely  different  was  the  grand  National  fete  of 
France  on  the  14th  of  July.  This,  too,  is  made  a  day  for 
general  rejoicing  and  merry-making,  and  the  French  people 


260  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

get  out  of  it  all  that  is  to  be  had.  For  days  before,  active 
preparations  for  the  event  are  made,  flags  and  streamers  of 
the  colored  bunting  are  put  up  all  over  the  city,  elaborate 
designs  in  gas  jets  are  prepared ;  fountains  erected ;  electric 
lights  put  up ;  in  a  word,  everything  is  done  that  can  in  the 
sHghtest  way  add  to  the  brilliancy  of  the  beautiful  city,  whose 
white  buildings  make  it  bright  and  cheerful  at  all  times. 

On  the  night  of  the  13th  it  was  apparent  that  something 
was  about  to  occur,  for  the  streets,  the  broad,  brilliantly  hghted 
boulevards,  were  crowded  with  people,  all  of  them  full  of  life 
and  animation.  The  great  stores,  with  their  glass  fronts,  were 
literally  ablaze  with  lights ;  the  gaily  decorated  cafes  wath 
their  inviting  tables  on  the  broad  sidewalks,  were  filled  with 
people  sipping  wine,  or  coffee,  and  discussing  with  the 
animation  and  vivacity  that  a  Frenchman  only  possesses,  the 
attractions  of  the  morrow.  All  along  the  principal  boulevards 
electric  lights  were  suspended  high  in  the  air,  while  in  the 
Place  de  Concorde,  and  out  the  Champs  Elysees,  were  thou- 
sands of  brilliant  clusters  of  gas  jets,  making  the  night  seem 
day.  The  crowds  swayed  hither  and  thither  with  one  impulse, 
to  see  everything,  yet  there  was  no  departure  from  decorum. 
Everybody  was  happy.  But  it  was  the  happiness  that  comes 
of  a  sense  of  pleasure,  from  bright  and  beautiful  surroundings, 
and  the  knowledge  that  every  one  else  is  happy.  There  was  no 
sign  of  drunkenness ;  there  was  no  rowdyism ;  there  w^as  noth- 
ing suggestive  even  of  offensiveness.  Everybody  was  gay  and 
merry.  There  were  songs  and  hearty  peals  of  laughter,  but 
it  was  pure  and  wholesome,  something  that  one  could  par- 
ticipate in  with  all  his  heart. 

The  morning  of  the  14th  dawned  with  a  bright,  clear  sky, 
and  the  sun  came  up  with  a  serenity  that  augured  w^ell  for  the 
fete.  During  the  night,  while  all  Paris  slept,  busy  w^orkmen 
put  the  finishing  touches  on  the  decorations,  and  when  all 
business  suspended,  Paris  turned  out  to  see  itself,  there  was  a 
general  murmur  of  approval  at  the  beautiful  sights  displayed 
everywhere.  The  houses  along  the  streets  were  almost  hidden 
by  flags  and  banners  and  streamers;  the  statues  were  deco- 
rated ;  high  staffs  that  were  not  visible  the  day  before,  now 


THE    NATIONAL    F:^TE. 


261 


floated  long  streamers ;  the  parks  and  gardens  were  in  holiday 
attire.  Paris  was  arrayed  in  gorgeous  dress,  and  every  one 
went  in  for  a  day  of  rare  pleasure. 

At  all  the  theaters,  including  the  Grand  Opera,  free  per- 
formances were  given  during  the  afternoon,  and  there  were  all 
sorts  of  entertainments  provided  by  the  government  for  the 
amusement  of  the  populace.     In  various  quarters  of  the  city 


THE  AVENUE  DE  L'  OPfiRA. 
Prom  the  Loggia  of  the  Opera  House. 

platforms  were  erected,  and  all  during  that  warm  afternoon 
the  working  classes  danced  to  the  music  of  superb  orchestras, 
which  were  furnished  to  them  without  money  and  without  cost. 
But  when  evening  came  the  fete  was  seen  to  its  best  advan- 
tage. As  it  grew  dark  the  whole  city  blazed  witn  light. 
There  were  millions  of  lanterns  of  every  possible  color,  hanging 
from  every  point  that  could  hold  a  support.  Electric  lights 
flashed  from  every  corner,  and  gas  jets  blazed  everywhere. 
The  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  from  the  Madelaine  to  the  Bastille, 
was  as  light  as  though  a  noonday  sun  were  pouring  down  upon 
it.     And   so   with   the   other   large  thoroughfares,  while  the 


262 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


different   quartiers  had   illuminations  of   their  own,  each   of 
which  was  wonderfully  brilliant. 

The  one  particular  place  that  eclipsed  all  others  was  the 
two  mile  stretch  from  the  Tuileries  to  the  Arch  of  Triumph 
and  then  on  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  The  straight  proine. 
nade  through  the  Tuileries  garden  was  lined  on  either  side  with 
a  high  trestle  work,  literally  covered  with  fanciful  designs 
wrought  in  gas,  while  high  arches  of  brilliant  flame  inter- 
sected it  at  regular  intervals. 

The  Place  de  Concorde  was  a  marvel  of  beauty.  All 
around  the  immense  square  were  hung  festoons  of  gas  jets, 
while  all  the   statues   of   the  different  cities  of  France  that 


CAFE   CONCERTS  —  CHAMPS  ELYS^ES. 

ornament  each  corner,  were  tlirown  into  bold  relief  by  brilliant 
lights  on  the  limpid  water  of  the  fountain  in  the  center; 
different  colored  lights  were  thrown  during  the  evening,  the 
effect  being  wondrously  beautiful. 

Standing  in  the  center  of  the  place,  and  looking  towards 
the  arch,  the  sight  was  simply  marvelous.  Nowhere  in  the 
world  but  in  Paris  could  such  a  thing  be  seen.  The  broad 
avenue,  Champs  Elysees,  rising  with  a  gentle  slope,  was  lined 
its  whole  distance  on  both  sides  with  a  stream  of  lififht,  that 


JOLLITY    AND    PATRIOTISM.  263 

drooped  gracefully  from  cluster  to  cluster,  all  the  way  out,  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Then  the  concert  cafes  which 
abound  on  either  side,  made  unusual  displays,  swinging  lines  of 
light  from  tree  to  tree  and  cafe  to  cafe,  till  the  effect  was 
dazzling,  and  one  really  had  to  stop  to  realize  that  he  was 
here  on  earth  and  not  in  some  fairy  land. 

The  Bois  de  Boulogne,  always  beautiful,  with  its  charming 
lakes,  long  winding  drives,  its  parks,  tiny  brooks  and  pictur- 
esque cafe,  was  unusually  brilliant  that  night.  On  the  shores 
of  the  lake  large  set  pieces  of  fire  works  were  diplayed,  while 
bands  of  music  in  odd  looking  gondolas  blazing  with  colored 
fires,  furnished  exquisite  music.  The  paths  and  carriage-ways 
were  lined  with  small  set  pieces,  which,  together  with  the  con- 
stantly burning  colored  fires,  produced  an  effect  that  was 
grandly  weird.  All  Paris  w^as  one  blaze  of  light.  And  all 
night  long  the  people  of  !Paris  and  all  France  were  on  the  streets 
enjoying  the  rare  sight.  After  nine  o'clock  carriages  were 
compelled  to  keep  off  the  principal  boulevards  and  streets,  so 
densely  were  they  packed  wdth  people.  The  Champs  Elysees 
from  ten  o'clock  was  one  surging  mass  of  people  —  men,  women 
and  children  —  returning  from  the  Bois.  From  curb  to  curb 
was  one  solid  mass  of  humanity,  and  such  a  jolly  good-natured 
crowd  w^as  never  seen  before.  They  sang  patriotic  songs,  and 
laughed  and  joked,  and  had  a  good  time  generally.  Now  and 
then  there  would  come  down  the  street  a  small  procession  of 
students,  wearing  grotesque  caps,  each  student  bearing  a  Chi- 
nese lantern.  They  sang  funny  songs,  and  chaffed  those  that 
passed.  But  there  was  not  a  single  display  of  temper.  Every- 
body took  everything  in  good  part,  and  every  one  was  super- 
latively happy. 

During  all  that  long  day  and  still  longer  night,  not  a  single 
•case  of  drunkenness  did  I  see,  and  during  that  time  I  was  in  a 
great  many  different  places,  and  would  have  seen  it  had  there 
been  any.  There  was  fun  and  frolic  on  every  side.  But  it  was 
the  overflow  of  exuberant  spirits,  and  not  the  outgrowth  of  too 
much  wine  and  beer  and  liquor.  In  no  city  in  England,  nor,  I 
am  afraid,  in  America,  could  there  be  so  gigantic  a  celebration, 
•so  much  fun  and  hilarity,  with  so  little  drunkenness  and  so  few 
disturbances.     Yerily,  the  French,  insincere  and  superficial  as 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

I 

they  are,  know  how  to  get  the  most  enjoyment  out  of  life. 
They  have  all  the  fun  the  Anglo-Saxon  has,  without  the  subse- 
quent horror. 

Foreign  travel  is  of  a  vast  amount  of  use  to  a  great  many 
people.  Coming  from  Dieppe  to  Paris  there  were  seated  in  our 
compartment  two  ladies  with  their  husbands,  who  were  in 
"New  York,  bankers,  one  regular  and  the  other  faro,  and  both 
with  loads  of  money.  The  wife  of  the  faro  banker  was 
arrayed  in  the  most  gorgeous  and  fearfully  expensive  apparel, 
with  a  JSTo.  6  foot  in  a  ISTo.  4  shoe.  The  other  lady  was  a  lady, 
and  she  really  desired  to  see  something  of  the  country  she  was 
traveling  through.  The  faro  bankeress  talked  to  her  from 
Dieppe  to  St.  Lazarre  station,  and  this  was  about  what  she 
said : — 

"  You  never  saw  anything  so  perfectly  lovely  as  the  chil- 
dren's ball  last  year  at  the  Academy  of  Music.  My  little  girl, 
Lulu,  you  saw  her  at  the  school — she  goes  to  the  same  school 
with  your  Minnie,  only  Lulu  isn't  studying  anything  but 
French  and  geography  now.  I  want  her  to  get  to  be  perfect 
in  French,  because  it  will  be  such  a  comfort  to  travel  with  her, 
and  see  things,  and  not  be  entirely  dependent  upon  your 
maid  —  we  have  a  maid  with  us,  but,  of  course,  we  have  her 
travel  third-class  —  not  for  the  difference  in  the  expense,  for 
we  don't  have  to  economize  —  but  you  know  it  won't  do  to 
have  your  servants  too  close  to  you;  they  get  to  presuming 
upon  their  privileges,  and  you  must  make  them  know  their 
place.  Oh,  how  I  wish  we  had  a  monarchy  or  something  of 
the  kind  in  America,  so  that  we  could  be  divided  up  into 
classes,  and  not  be  compelled  to  mix  with  the  lower  orders." 

[I  may  as  well  remark  here  that  this  fine  lady  was  origin- 
ally a  McFadden ;  that  she  came  to  America  in  the  steerage, 
and  was  a  chambermaid  in  a  boarding-house,  where  she  first 
met  her  husband,  who  was  a  brislv:  young  bar-tender,  who 
finally  got  a  bar  of  his  own,  which  gradually  blossomed  into 
a  faro  bank.  The  maid  was  a  thoroughly  educated  and  refined 
young  lady,  who  was  compelled  by  poverty  to  take  a  position 
of  this  kind.] 

''Well,  Monsieur  Bigwig,  the  dancing  teacher,  you  know 
of  him.     He  was  a  Russian  or  a  Prussian,  or  one  of  them 


THE  TALK  OF  THE  FAKO  BANKERESS.  265 

people.  Why,  he  has  taught  the  children  of  all  the  kings  in 
Europe  —  the  httle  princesses;  but  he  came  to  America  and 
has  three  schools  in  'New  York  and  one  in  Brooklyn,  and  he  is 
perfectly  splendid.  Dodworth  isn't  nothing  beside  him  for 
giving  dancing  lessons.  Monsieur  was  a  great  friend  of  Lulu's, 
and  showed  her  a  great  deal  of  attention,  and  paid  her  a  great 
many  comphments.  When  a  new  pupil  came  in  he  used  to 
take  Lulu  and  dance  with  her  to  show  the  new  one  the  step, 
Lulu  danced  so  prettily,  and  was  altogether  too  sweet  for  any- 
thing. And  at  his  ball  he  had  one  tableau  of  four  little  girls 
representing  Spring,  Autumn,  Summer,  and  Winter,  and  he 
came  to  my  house  and  gave  me  the  choice  of  characters  for 
dear  Lulu.  I  remember  he  came  to  the  house  to  do  it,  because 
he  took  dinner  with  us  that  day,  and  my  husband  lent  him 
fifty  dollars.  Well,  I  selected  '  Winter '  for  Lulu,  for  I  could 
dress  her  warmer  in  that  character  than  in  any  of  the  others, 
and  the  dear  child  is  delicate ;  she  is  so  spirituelle,  and  I  had 
for  her  a  costume  which  was  altogether  too  sweet  for  anything. 
She  had  on  a  dress  — " 

"  Oh  heavens !  do  look  at  that  beautiful  valley,"  exclaimed 
the  unwilling  listener. 

There  was  a  valley  spread  out  before  us,  so  entirely  perfect 
in  its  soft  loveliness  that  it  was  worth  a  voyage  across  the 
Atlantic  to  see  it.  The  faro  bankeress  glanced  out  of  the 
window,  and  with  the  remark,  ''  It's  altogether  too  lovely  for 
anything,"  went  on  without  a  moment's  pause : — 

^'  I  had  a  dress  made  of  a  white  material  that  represented 
ice,  with  little  balls  of  white  down  to  represent  snow  balls  all 
over  it,  and  furs,  the  edges  trimmed  with  down,  and  a  little 
crown  upon  her  head,  with  points  hke  icicles,  and  the  same 
things  tacked  onto  the  bottom  of  her  outer  skirt,  and  her  hair 
powdered  so  as  to  be  like  snow,  and  she  was  the  Ice  Queen, 
and  had  a  retinoo  of  ice  men,  twelve  little  boys  with  ice  axes, 
and  she  was  drawn  in  on  a  sled  by  two  boys  dressed  like 
reindeers,  and  in  front  of  the  reindeers  was  two  little  boys 
dressed  like  bears,  and  it  was  altogether  too  sweet  for  any- 
thing. I  don't  know  how  the  other  little  girls  were  dressed, 
but  everybody  looked  at  Lulu ;  and  then,  after  they  four  had 
made  the  circuit  of  the  Academy  (it  was  all  floored  over),  they 


266 


NASBY    IX    EXILE. 


formed  in  the  center  and  danced  a  dance  which  Monsieur  had 
arranged  for  them,  and  Lulu  danced  too  sweet  for  anything. 
Everybody  said  to  me  that  she  was  the  sweetest  little  girl  in 
the  ball.  Where  did  you  get  that  lace  ?  I  got  some  in  Paris 
last  year ;  we  go  abroad  every  year ;  we  are  tired  of  Saratoga ; 

we  have  been 
ill  going  there  so 
long  that  it  is 
an  old  story, 
and  then  you 
have  to  meet  all 
sorts  of  people 
there,  and  I 
don't  like  it.  I 
I  don't  suppose  it 
is  just  right,  but 
I  do  wish  We 
could  have  a 
■f^2  monarchy,  so 
that  the  better 
classes  could  be 

more  select.  That  lace  was  altogether  the  sweetest  thing  I 
ever  saw,  and  it  cost  less  than  half  it  would  in  New  York,  and 
then—" 

"  What  a  delightful  village  this  is,  and  how  quaint !  Do 
look  at  it!"     This  from  the  actual  lady. 

There  was  the  same  quick  sweep  of  the  head  by  the  lady  of 
laces,  with  the  regular  remark:  "Yes;  it's  altogether  too 
sweet  for  anything,"  and  she  resumed: — 

"  Now  when  we  get  to  Paris  I  do  so  want  you  to  go  with 
me.  I  can  show  you  where  you  can  get  laces  and  everything 
for  half  you  pay  in  New  York.  And  hosiery !  Well  now.  I 
always  buy  five  dozen  pairs  of  silk  stockings  in  Paris.  And 
gloves !  You  can  get  kid  gloves  in  Paris  for  almost  nothing, 
and  all  you  have  to  do  not  to  pay  duties  is  to  put  them  on 
once  and  swear  they  have  been  worn.  I  always  spend  my 
last  day  in  Paris  putting  on  and  off  gloves.  And  children's 
clothes !  Let  me  see ;  you  have  a  little  boy,  and  so  have  I.  Is 
yours  in  pants  yet,  or  is  he  in  kilts  ?     Mine  is  in  pants,  but  I 


THE  FARO  BANKERESS  ADMIRING  THE  VILLAGE. 


TRAVEL    AND    DRY    Gi)ODS. 


267 


bated  to  take  him  out  of  kilts :  he  was  altogether  too  sweet 
for  anything  in  them.  With  a  broad  white  collar,  and  lace 
about  his  wrists,  and  little  black  shoes,  and  red  stockings,  with 
a  Highland  cap  and  feather  in  it,  just  like  a  Highland  chieftain 
and—" 

At  this  point  the  train  stopped  at  a  station,  and  our  party 
got  into  another  compartment.  I  pitied  the  lady  who  had  to 
stay,  but  self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature.  I  should 
not  hke  to  be  with  her  on  a  steamboat,  where  escape  would  be 
impossible.  Travel  does  her  a  power  of  good.  But  heavens  1 
how  many  like  her  are  strewing  their  gabble  all  over  the  con- 
tinent 1 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SOMETHING   ABOUT    PARIS    AND    THE    PARISIANS. 

Paris  covers  an  area  of  thirty  square  miles,  has  five  hun- 
dred and  thirty  miles  of  public  streets,  and  has  a  resident 
population  of  nearly  two  millions,  all  engaged  in  trading  in 
articles  of  luxury  for  the  rest  of  the  Avorld.  It  supports 
about  one  hundred  and  fifteen  thousand  paupers.  Its  religion 
is  a  very  mild  form  of  Catholicism  tinged  with  infidelity,  or 
infidelity  flavored  with  Catholicism,  as  you  choose.  Which 
flavor  predominates  in  the  average  Parisian  I  have  not  been 
able  to  determine.  I  should  say  Catholicism  Sunday  forenoon, 
and  infidelity  the  remainder  of  the  week.  At  all  events,  the 
cafes  are  always  crowded,  while  the  churches  never  are,  except 
by  strangers,  who  go  religiously  and  devoutly  thither  —  to  see 
the  buildings  and  the  decorations.  The  Parisian  generally 
puts  off  going  to  church  till  next  Sunday,  and  goes  this 
Sunday  to  the  country  instead.  One-fourth  of  the  births  are 
illegitimate,  which  is  doing  very  well  for  Paris. 

The  city  consumes  annually  eighty -six  millions  gallons  of 
wine,  and  three  iMUions  five  hundred  thousand  gallons  of  spirits ; 
the  latter  goings  very  largely  into  the  seasoned  stomachs  of 
foreigners,  the  French  themselves  being  altogether  too  acute 
to  use  anything  of  the  kind.  However,  they  are  very  w^illing 
to  sell  it,  and  welcome  the  Englishman  or  American  with 
hospitable  hands  to  drunkards'  graves  —  if  they  have  the 
money  to  pay  for  it — with  great  politeness  and  suavity. 

I  have  not  yet  been  in  any  country  which  did  not  extend 
a  hearty  welcome  to  any  stranger  w^ith  money. 

About  ninety-five   millions  of  gallons  of   water  per   day 

(268) 


SOMETHING    ABOUT    WINE. 


269 


come  from  the  water-works,  Avhich  is  mostly  used  in  keeping 
the  streets  clean.  I  have  not  yet  seen  a  Frenchman  who  ever 
used  any  as  a  beverage  or  on  his  person.     For  economy  he 


/,-  '  PARISIAN  BREAD  CARRIER. 

mixS  some  of  it  with  his  wine,  and  his  ablutions  may  require 
a  pint  or  such  matter  a  day,  but  that  is  all  the  use  he  has  for 
water. 

The  very  first  thing  that  strikes  an  American  in  Paris  with 


270  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

astonishment  is  the  meagreness  of  the  water  supply  in  the 
houses.  You  look  for  the  faucets  which  supply  your  room 
with  hot  and  cold  water,  as  at  home,  but  you  don't  find  them. 
A  chambermaid  pours  out  about  two  quarts  in  a  diminutive 
pitcher,  and  that  is  expected  to  last  you  for  purposes  of  ablu- 
tion twenty-four  hours.  And  this  with  the  Seine  running 
directly  through  tlie  center  of  the  city.  The  houses  are  from 
five  to  seven  stories  high,  but  all  the  water  used  in  them,  for 
all  purposes,  is  carted  up  to  the  top  by  men.  My  landlord 
told  me  it  was  cheaper  to  have  it  so  carried  than  to  put  plumb- 
ing in  his  house,  and  pay  the  water-tax,  "and  we  don't  use 
much  of  it,  anyway,"  he  remarked,  and  he  was  right.  Stilly 
accustomed  as  I  have  always  been  to  the  use  of  a  great  deal  of 
it,  it  took  me  some  time  to  fall  into  their  ways.  Pure  water 
is  a  very  good  thing  to  have  plenty  of,  but  it's  all  a  matter 
of  habit,  I  suppose.  A  man  can  get  to  be  a  Frenchman,  in 
time,  if  he  tries  hard  enough.  Nothing  is  impossible,  where 
there's  a  will  and  a  stubborn  purpose.  But  to  keep  oneself 
clean  with  a  pint,  or  thereabouts,  of  water  per  day  looks  rather 
difficult  to  a  novice. 

John  Leech  was  very  fond  of  illustrating  this  peculiarity  of 
the  French  people,  in  Punchy  years  ago.  When  the  first 
English  Exposition  was  in  progress  in  London,  the  city  was. 
overrun  with  French.  One  picture  he  made  was  of  two 
elegantly  dressed  young  Frenchmen,  standing  in  front  of  an 
ordinary  wash-stand,  on  which  was  the  usual  pitcher,  wash- 
bowl, soap-dish,  etc.,  and  underneath  was  this  conversation : — 

Alphonse  —  What  is  this  ? 

Henri  —  I  do  not  know.     It  is  queer ! 

The  good  Leech  doubtless  exaggerated,  as  all  satirists  do,, 
but  he  had  sufficient  foundation  for  his  skit. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  condition  of  the  French,  man  or 
woman,  interiorally,  the  outside  is  as  delightfully  clean  as. 
could  be  desired.  The  blouse  of  the  workman  is  outwardly  as 
fresh  and  clean  as  the  coat  of  the  swell  on  the  boulevards,  and 
the  said  swell  would  sooner  lie  down  and  die  than  to  wear 
soiled  linen  or  uncleaned  boots.  The  women,  high  and  low^ 
are  invariably  neat  and  tidy  in  appearance  —  immaculately  so. 


FRENCH    CLEANLINESS. 


271 


The  chambermaid,  who  cares  for  your  room;  the  washer- 
woman who  brings  you  your  linen ;  equally  with  my  lady  in 
her  drawing  room  or  in 
her  carriage,  is  neat- 
ness itself,  and  not  only 
that,  but  elegance 
itself.  Condition  is  no 
excuse  for  outward 
slovenliness  in  Paris. 
The  servants  in  the 
house  always  have 
white  about  the  throat 
and  wrist,  and  it  is 
white.  And  then  their 
dresses  are  made  vnXh 
some  degree  of  taste, 
and  are  worn  in  such 
a  way  as  to  make  the 
cheapest  and  most 
common  goods  attrac- 
tive. With  the  same 
eye  to  appearance,  and  with  the  devotion  to  comfort  that  is  a 
part  of  French  nature,  the  streets  of  Paris  are  the  best  kept 
in  the  world.  I  do  not'  wonder  that  the  Frenchman,  con- 
demned by  business  or  other  considerations  to  live  in  ]N"ew 
York,  considers  himself  a  sort  of  !N"apoleon,  after  Waterloo, 
and  I^ew  York  his  St.  Helena.  The  streets  of  London  are 
kept  clean ;  the  dirt  from  the  throngs  of  horses  and  vehicles  is 
carefully  removed,  and  it  is  done  thoroughly,  but  not  so  much 
because  of  cleanliness  as  for  want  of  manure.  The  streets 
of  Paris  are  kept  absolutely  clean,  simply  for  comfort  and 
appearance.  The  neatly  polished  boots  of  Monsieur  and 
Madame  must  not  be  soiled  on  crossings,  nor  must  the  skirts 
of  its  women  be  made  unwearable  by  dragging  through  dust 
and  filth.  The  streets  of  JSTew  York  would  send  a  French 
woman  to  a  mad-house  —  they  are  nasty  enough  to  send  any 
one  there  compelled  to  wade  through  them. 

There  are  no  people  in  the  world  who  are  so  delightfully 
polite  as  the  Parisians.     I  might  say  the  French,  but  Paris  is 


QUEER— TO  FRENCHMEN. 


272 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


France,  and  it  is  the  same  all  over  the  country.  It  is  a  delight 
to  be  swindled  by  a  French  shopkeeper,  man  or  woman,  they 
do  it  so  neatly  and  with  such  infinite  grace.     There  is  so  much 


THE  PORTE  ST.  MARTIN. 


patience,  so  much  suavity,  such  a  general  oiling  of  the  rough 
places,  and  such  a  delightful  smoothing  out  of  creases.  It  is 
Monsieur  who  is  the  obliged  party  if  you  come  into  his  place. 
He  feels  the  honor  that  you  have  conferred  upon  him,  and  he 


27-3 

makes  you  feel  that  he  feels  it.  True,  you  pay  for  all  this 
politeness,  and  pay  for  it  at  very  high  rates,  but  it  is,  like  all 
high-priced  commodities,  very  pleasant. 

He  never  wearies  of  shoAving  you  goods;  your  atrocious 
French  is  laboriously  translated,  and  if  you  buy  a  franc's 
worth  Monsieur  seems  as  much  delighted  as  though  you  had 
beggared  yourself  by  taking  his  whole  stock.  And  if  you 
have  taken  an  hour  of  his  time  and  purchased  nothing,  he 
seems  to  be  even  more  pleased.  Indeed,  his  politeness  on  occa- 
sions that  to  an  English  or  American  tradesman  would  be 
depressing,  is  even  more  marked.  He  bows  and  smiles,  not 
grimaces,  as  has  been  vainly  written,  but  a  most  gracious  bow 
and  a  most  delightful  smile,  which,  if  not  genuine,  is  a  most 
natural  substitute  tbr  it,  and  he  modestly  hopes  that  if  Mon- 
sieur or  Madame  desires  anything  in  his  line  that  they  will 
give  him  the  preference.  Possibly  he  says  "  sacre  "  to  himself 
after  you  are  on  the  sidewalk,  and  possibly  he  launches  all 
sorts  of  curses  after  you,  but  you  don't  know  it,  and  so  it 
doesn't  hurt  you.  Go  back  within  five  minutes  and  you  will 
find  him  with  the  same  smile,  ready  and  willing  to  go  through 
the  same  operation  over  again. 

Tibbitts  tried  to  worry  one  of  them,  and  for  once  succeeded. 
He  stopped  the  party  promenading  with  him  on  the  Boulevard 
des  Italiens,  at  a  jeweler's,  who  displayed  in  his  window  the 
legend,  "  English  spoken."  The  ''  English  spoken "  in  the 
shops  is  good  enough,  as  a  rule,  to  explain  the  nature  and 
quality  of  the  goods,  and  that  is  all.  Further  than  this,  the 
English-speaking  salesman  has  no  more  idea  of  English  than  he 
has  of  Ashantee.  Tibbitts  marched  in  boldly,  and  the  English- 
speaking  man  appeared.  He  was  a  very  well-preserved,  bald- 
headed  man  of  fifty,  and  at  him  Tibbitts  went. 

"  Do  you  speak  English  ?  " 

"  Oui  —  yees,  Monsieur." 

Tibbitts  grasped  his  hand  enthusiastically. 

"  It 's  refreshing  to  meet  one  in  a  strange  land  who  can 
speak  one's  own  language." 

''  Yees,  Monsieur." 

"Well,  what  I  want  to  know  is,  is  the  Chicago  &  North- 
western Eailroad  cutting  rates  the  same  as  the  other  roads, 
18 


274  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

and  do  they  cut  for  Western-bound  passengers  the  same  as  for 
Eastern,  and  have  you  the  remotest  idea  that  the  cutting  will 
be  kept  up  till  September  when  I  return,  and  does  the  Pullman 
Sleeping  Car  Company  cut  the  same  as  the  railroad  com- 
panies ?  " 

"  Eh,  Monsieur  ?     Zeese  watches  — " 

"You  don't  quite  understand  me.  You  see  the  Pullman 
Sleeping  Car  Company  is  quite  distinct  from  the  railroad 
companies,  and  one  may  cut  rates  without  the  other.  See  ? 
]N"ow  what  I  want  to  know  is  —  " 

The  bewildered  Frenchman  who  spoke  English  stared  in  a 
wild  sort  of  way,  but  his  politeness  did  not  desert  him. 

"  Ees  eet  ze  watch,  ze  diamond,  ze  — " 

"  Not  yet.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  T^ho  is  this  Lapham 
and  Miller  who  have  been  elected  to  fill  the  vacancies  occa- 
sioned by  the  resignations  of  Piatt  and  Conkling,  and  is 
Miller  going  to  be  a  tail  to  Lapham's  kite,  or  are  they  both 
square^  bang-up  men,  and  — " 

"  Will  Monsieur  look  at  ze  goods  ? " 

"  Is  o,  no !     Is  the  Chicago  &  Northwestern  in  this  row  ? " 

By  this  time  the  Frenchman  was  out  of  patience. 

"Monsieur,  talks — wat  you  call  'im  —  gibberish.  I  'ave 
not  ze  time  to  waste.     Eef  it  ees  ze  watch  — " 

"Sir,"  replies  Tibbitts,  severely,  "when  you  announce 
'  English  spoken,'  you  should  speak  English,  or  at  least  under- 
stand it.  Good  morning,  or,  as  you  don't  understand  the 
plainest  English,  hong  swoir.''^ 

He  had  succeeded  this  time,  and  should  have  rested  on  his 
laurels.  But  Tibbittses,  alas,  always  overdo  what  they  under- 
take. He  had  extracted  so  much  amusement  from  his  first 
experiment  that  he  tried  it  over  again  the  next  day.  He 
entered  a  similar  place  and  commenced  the  same  thing. 

"What  I  want  to  know,  is  the  Chicago  &  Northwestern  in 
the  railroad  war,  and  do  you  suppose  the  cutting  of  rates  will 
continue  till  September,  when  I  return,  and  — " 

"Indeed  I  cannot  tell  you,  sir.  It  is  something  I  do  not 
keep  the  run  of.  You  had  better  apply  at  the  American 
Exchange,  or  the  Herald  office." 

This  in  the  best  and  clearest  American  English.     Poor  Tib- 


THE    POLITE    FRENCH. 


275 


bitts  had  fallen  upon  a  bright  American  who  was  turning  his 
knowledge  of  French  to  account  by  serving  as  a  salesman  in 
Paris.  He  smiled  a  ghastly  smile  as  he  bowed  himself  out  of 
the  place.  Bad  marksmen  who  by  chance  hit  the  bull's  eye, 
should  be  very  modest  and  refuse  to  shoot  again.  Even  Napo- 
leon, great  as  he  was,  fought  one  battle  too  many. 

Politeness  with  the  French  is  a  matter  of  education  as  well 
as  nature.  The  French  child  is  taught  that  lesson  from  the 
beginning  of  its  existence, 
and  it  is  made  a  part  of  its 
life.  It  is  the  one  thing  that 
is  never  forgotten  and  lack 
of  it  is  never  forgiven.  A 
shipwrecked  Frenchman  who 
could  not  get  into  a  boat,  as 
he  w^as  disappearing  under 
the  waves,  raised  his  hat,  and 
with  such  a  bow  as  he  could 
make  under  the  circumstan- 
ces, said,  "  Adieu,  Mesdames ; 
Adieu,  Messieurs,"  and  went 
to  the  fishes.  I  doubt  not 
that  it  really  occurred,  for  I 
have  seen  ladies  splashed  by 
a  cab  on  a  rainy  day,  smile 
politely  at  the  driver.  A 
race  that  has  women  of  that  ^  ^^^^  ^^^^™  frenchman. 

degree  of  politeness  can  never  be  anything  but  polite.  When 
such  exasperation  as  splashed  skirts  and  stockings  will  not 
ruffle  them,  nothing  will. 

The  children  are  delightful  in  this  particular.  French 
children  do  not  go  about  clamoring  for  the  best  places  and 
sulking  if  they  do  not  get  them,  and  talking  in  a  rude,  boister- 
ous way.  They  do  not  take  favors  and  attentions  as  a  matter 
of  course  and  unacknowledged.  The  slightest  attention  shown 
them  is  acknowledged  by  the  sweetest  kind  of  a  bow  —  not  the 
dancing-master's  bow,  but  a  genuine  one  — and  the  invariable 
"  Merci,  Monsieur ! "  or  Madame,  or  Mademoiselle,  as  the  case 
may  be. 

I  was  in  a  compartment  with  a  little  French  boy  of  twelve, 


276  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

the  precise  ao^e  at  which  American  children,  as  a  rule,  deserve 
killing  for  their  rudeness  and  general  disagreeableness.  He 
was  dressed  faultlessly,  but  his  clothes  were  not  the  chief 
charm.  I  sat  between  him  and  the  open  window,  and  he  was 
eating  pears,  j^ow  an  American  boy  of  that  age  would  either 
have  dropped  the  cores  upon  the  floor,  or  tossed  them  out  of 
the  window  without  a  word  to  anybody.  But  this  small 
gentleman  every  time,  with  a  "  permit  me,  Monsieur,"  said  in 
the  most  pleasant  way,  rose  and  came  to  the  window  and 
dropped  them  out,  and  then,  "  Merci,  Monsieur,"  as  he  quietly 
took  his  seat.  It  was  a  delight.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  such 
small  boys  do  not  travel  on  American  railroad  trains  to  any 
alarming  extent.     Would  they  were  more  frequent. 

And  when  in  his  seat,  if  an  elderly  person  or  any  one  else 
came  in,  he  was  the  very  first  to  rise  and  offer  his  place  if  it 
were  in  the  slightest  degree  more  comfortable  than  the  one 
vacant,  and  the  good  nature  in  which  he  insisted  upon  the  new 
comer  taking  it  was  something  "altogether  too  sweet  for 
anything,"  as  the  faro  bankeress  would  say. 

And  this  boy  was  no  exception.  He  was  not  a  show  boy, 
out  posing  before  the  great  American  republic,  or  such  of  it  as 
happened  to  be  in  France  at  the  time,  but  he  was  a  sample,  a 
perfect  type  of  the  regulation  French  child.  I  have  seen  just 
as  much  politeness  in  the  ragged  waifs  in  the  Faubourg  St. 
Antoine,  where  the  child  never  saw  the  blue  sky  more  than 
the  little  patches  that  could  be  seen  over  the  tops  of  seven- 
storied  houses,  as  I  ever  did  in  the  Champs  Elysees.  One 
Sunday  at  St.  Cloud,  where  the  ragged  children  of  poverty 
are  taken  by  their  mothers  for  air  and  light,  it  was  a  dehght 
to  fill  the  pockets  with  sweets  to  give  them.  They  had  no 
money  to  buy,  and  the  little  human  rats  looked  longingly  at 
the  riches  of  the  candy  stands,  and  a  sou's  worth  made  the 
difference  between  perfect  happiness  and  half-pleasure.  You 
gave  them  the  sou's  worth,  and  what  a  glad  smile  came  to  the 
lips,  and  accompanied  with  it  was  the  delicious  half  bow  and 
half  courtesy,  and  invariable  "  Merci,  Monsieur."  One  little 
tot,  who  could  not  speak,  filled  her  tiny  mouth  with  the 
unheard  of  delicacies  she  had  received,  and,  too  young  to  say 
"  Merci,^^  put  up  her  lips  to  be  kissed. 

Tibbitts  gave  some  confectionery  to  her  elder  sister,  a  young 


THE    DISGUST    OF    TIBBITTS. 


277 


girl  of  eighteen,  but  she  merely  said  "  Merci,  Monsieur,"  and 
that  was  all.  She  took  the  candy,  but  declined  to  kiss  him, 
much  to  Tibbitts'  disgust. 

Oh,  ye  thoughtless,  heedless  mothers  of  America,  would 
that  you  could  all  see  these  children  and  take  lessons  from 
their  mothers.     There  is  a  difference  in  people,  and  a   still 


*' MERCI,  MONSIEUR." 

greater  difference  in  children.  Our  American  Congress  could 
well  afford  a  commission  of  ladies  to  learn  the  secret  of 
training  children,  and  a  school  for  mothers  should  be  estab- 
lished in  every  city  for  their  preparation  for  this  important 
duty.  It  would  pay  better  than  any  monetary  conference. 
The  French  family  is  an  unknown  quantity.  Monsieur,  the 
husband  and  father,  spends  his  time  at  his  cafe  according  to 
his  quality,  while  Madame  the  wife  receives  her  friends,  or 
admirers,  if  she  be  not  too  old  to  have  them,  in  her  drawing- 
room.  There  are  no  homes  in  France,  as  the  Enghsh  and 
Americans  understand  the  word.    It  would  drive  a  Frenchman 


278  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

crazy  if,  when  business  hours  are  over,  he  stiould  be  compelled 
to  eat  his  dinner  and  afterward  go  up  stairs,  sit  with  his  wife 
and  children  quietly  till  bed-time,  and  then  retire  in  good 
order.  Likewise  would  it  be  distasteful  to  the  French  wife. 
She  may  be  in  love  —  in  fact,  she  always  is  —  but  not  with  her 
husband. 

A  Frenchman  once,  who  was  too  fond  of  the  softer  sex, 
pledged  himself  to  avoid  women.  Later  he  was  asked  if  he 
had  kept  his  pledge.  ''  Certainly,  or  rather  partially.  I  have 
religiously  avoided  Madame ;  I  can  keep  that  pledge  always, 
so  far  as  she  is  concerned." 

He  meets  his  wife  with,  "  Good  evening,  Madame.  I  trust 
you  have  had  a  pleasant  day." 

"  Merci,  Monsieur ;  very  pleasant." 

He  does  not  ask  her  whether  she  has  been  driving  out  with 
the  children,  or  with  a  lover ;  in  fact,  he  does  not  care.  He 
knows  she  has  a  lover,  but  that  is  nothing  to  him  so  long  as 
he  himself  sees  nothing  wrong. 

And  after  dinner  he  bids  her  ''  Good  evening,"  and  goes  to 
his  favorite  cafe,  where  he,  and  other  similar  husbands,  save 
the  country  over  innumerable  bottles  of  wine,  and  when  the 
cafes  are  shut,  and  there  is  no  other  earthly  place  to  visit,  he 
goes  home  and  retires  to  his  room,  only  to  meet  Madame  the 
next  morning  at  breakfast. 

This  is  not  singular.  The  French  girl  is  kept  by  her 
mother  under  the  strictest  possible  guardianship  till  she  is  of 
the  age  to  marry.  She  might  as  well  be  in  a  j)rison,  for  she  is 
never  out  from  under  the  sharp  eye  of  her  mother,  or  aunt,  or 
in  default  of  these,  a  governess.  Her  life,  when  she  gets  to 
be  about  fourteen,  and  begins  to  know  something  of  what  life 
really  is,  and  wants  to  enjoy  it,  is  most  intolerable. 

She  is  married  in  due  time,  but  she  has  very  little  to  do 
with  it.  A  husband  is  selected  for  her,  and  she  accepts  him 
scarcely  knowing  or  hardly  caring  who  it  is  she  is  to  wed,  for 
she  wants  that  liberty  which  in  France  comes  with  marriage, 
and  marriage  onl}^  She  knows  that  a  wife  may  do  that 
which  a  maiden  may  not  —  that  matrimony  means  in  France 
what  it  does  not  in  any  other  country  —  almost  absolute  free- 
dom.    Once  married,  the  mother  washes  her  hands  of   her, 


MARRIAGE    IN   PARIS. 


279 


considering  that  she  has  discharged  her  whole  dut}^  by  her 
child. 

The  whole  idea  of  French  matrimony  from  the  girl's  stand- 
point is  well  illustrated  in  the  picture  of  the  French  carica- 


PARIS  UNDERGROUND  —  MAKING  THE  TOUR  OP  THE  SEWERS. 

turist.  Two  girls  are  discussing  the  approaching  marriage 
of  one  of  them.  The  bargained-for  girl  exclaims  lugubriously, 
"  But  I  love  Henri ! "  "  Yery  good,  my  child,"  replies  her 
elder  and  wiser  friend,  "  you  love  Henri ;  then  marry  Alphonse." 
Her  marrying  Alphonse  made  love  for  Henri  possible.  It 
was  all  there  in  one  small  picture  and  two  lines  of  print,  but 
a  page  of  small  type  could  not  explain  the  situation  more 
clearly. 


280 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


Marriages  are  arranged  by  the  parents  of  the  parties,  and 
an  exceedingly  curious  performance  it  is.  The  girl's  parents 
actually  buy  her  a  husband.     The  two  old  cats  who  have  one 


INTERIOR  OF  THE  PARTS  BOURSE. 


a  son  and  the  other  a  daughter,  meet  like  two  gray-headed 
diplomatists,  and  there  ensues  a  series  of  negotiations  that 
would  put  to  shame  traders  in  anything  else.  The  girl  has  to 
have  a  dot^  which  is  to  say,  a  dowry,  and  the  son  must  have 


BARGAIN    AND    SALE.  281 

money  or  property  settled  upon  him.  The  mother  of  the  girl 
proposes  to  give  her  one  hundred  thousand  francs  as  the  dot. 
The  mother  of  the  son  insists  that  it  is  not  enough,  and  enlarges 
upon  the  perfections  of  the  young  man.  He  is  educated,  he  is 
polished,  he  is  handsome,  he  is  amiable.  He  isn't  a  brute  who 
would  make  a  wife  miserable ;  not  he.  Clearly  one  hundred 
thousand  francs  is  not  enough  for  such  a  paragon.  The  mother 
of  the  girl  strikes  in.  The  girl  is  the  handsomest  in  Paris,  and 
has  had  every  advantage.  She  is  a  lady,  and  would  make  a 
desirable  addition  to  the  house  of  any  man  in  Paris ;  but  finally 
she  names  one  hundred  and  ten  thousand  francs. 

It  will  not  do.  '\Mon  dieu!^^  exclaims  the  mother,  "you 
must  remember  I  have  three  other  daughters  to  provide  for,  and 
the  estate  is  not  large.  If  I  give  one  hundred  and  ten  thou- 
sand francs  to  one,  what  will  become  of  the  others  ?  There 
is  reason  in  all  things,  even  in  marrying  off  a  daughter ! " 

And  thus  they  haggle  and  haggle,  just  as  though  they  were 
trading  horses,  until  finally  it  is  fixed.  The  happy  pair  are 
permitted  to  see  each  other ;  so  much  is  settled  upon  the  young 
man  and  so  much  upon  the  girl,  and  they  are  married,  and  by 
the  laws  of  France  and  the  sanction  of  the  holy  church,  are 
man  and  wife.  They  are  man  and  w^ife  legally  but  in  no 
other  sense. 

Of  course  there  can  be  nothing  of  love,  or  affection,  or  even 
esteem  in  such  marriages.  Monsieur  wants  Madame  to  be 
handsome  and  accomplished,  precisely  as  he  wants  a  handsome 
horse  —  it  pleases  his  eye  and  gratifies  his  tastes  —  but  the  main 
point  after  all  is  the  dot.  He  has  that  additional  income  to  live 
upon.  Madame  desires  Monsieur  to  be  likewise  prepossessing, 
for  she  wants  the  world  to  believe  that  she  married  something 
beside  the  title  of  Madame,  though  all  the  world  knows  better. 

Each  wants  the  other  to  be  amiable,  for  even  living 
separate,  as  they  do,  they  are  necessarily  under  one  roof,  and 
bad  temper  on  either  side  would  make  things  uncomfortabie. 
Above  all,  they  want  no  jealousy  or  inquisitiveness.  Each 
wants  to  be  let  alone ;  each  desires  to  follow  the  bent  of  his 
or  her  inclination,  undisturbed  and  unmolested.  And  they 
get  up,  doubtless,  some  sort  of  an  esteem  for  each  other, 
which  may  in  time  ripen  into  something  like  what  outside 


282 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


barbarians  call  love.  But  that  occurs,  probably,  after  one  of 
them  is  dead,  provided  the  survivor  is  too  old  to  marry  again. 
It  looks  well  for  a  widow  of  fifty  or  sixty  to  revere  the 
memory  of  her  dear  departed,  and  they  generally  do  it,  no 
matter  on  what  terms  they  lived. 

Of  course  they  have  children  born  to  them,  for  there  must 
be  heirs  to  the  estate.     Madame  loves  them  very  much,  or 


THE  ARC   DU  CARROUSEL. 

appears  to,  but  she  sees  very  little  of  them.  She  puts  them 
out  to  nurse  at  once.  Children  are  tiresome  and  wearying  to 
a  woman  whose  day  is  divided  into  so  much  for  dressing,  so 
much  for  riding,  so  much  for  eating,  and  so  much  for  balls  or 
opera.  She  sees  them  and  admires  them,  and  when  they  are 
old  enough,  marries  them  off.  The  father  is  pleased  to  see  that 
Henri  is  growing  into  a  fine  boy,  or  Marie  into  a  fine  girl, 
but  he  has  his  business  and  pleasures  to  attend  to,  and  besides, 
there  is  invariably  some  Avoman,  somewhere  in  Paris,  that  he 
does  love,  and  she  has  children  also.  And  so  the  children 
grow  up,  Monsieuring  their  father  and  Madaming  their  mother 
till  they  escape  from  under  the  paternal  and  maternal  charge? 
only  to  go  and  do  the  same  things  for  themselves. 


MARRIAGE    IN    LOW    LIFE.  283 

Curious  notions  "our  lively  neighbors,  the  Gauls,"  as  Mr. 
Micawber  says,  have  of  domestic  life.  There  is  no  such  thing 
in  Paris. 

This  among  the  upper  classes.  Jean  and  Jeannette,  the 
baker  and  the  milliner,  are  not  so  particular  about  the  dot^ 
and  for  a  very  good  reason  —  neither  of  them  or  their  parents 
have  a  sou  to  give  more  than  the  vyredding  clothes  and  a 
holiday,  with  an  extra  bottle  of  wine  on  the  occasion  of  the 
wedding.  They  dispense  with  the  dot^  and,  in  very  many 
cases,  with  the  legal  and  religous  ceremonies,  which  are  con- 
sidered necessary  among  other  classes,  and  among  all  classes  in 
other  countries.  Having  nothing  else  to  marry  for,  they  marry 
for  love,  and  very  good  husbands  and  wives  they  make.  True, 
Jean  goes  to  his  cafe  every  night,  to  save  the  country  in  his 
way,  and  Jeannette  expects  him  to,  but  as  they  do  not  inhabit 
large  houses  they  are  naturally  brought  closer  together,  and, 
consequently,  are  more  in  sympathy  with  each  other.  Jean, 
with  two  francs  a  day,  even  with  the  help  of  Jeannette,  who 
may  earn  quite  as  much,  cannot  afford  the  luxury  of  separate 
rooms  or  separate  beds.  One  answers  them  both,  and  not 
infrequently  they  have  not  that  one. 

But  with  their  cheap  wine  and  their  very  cheap  bread, 
and,  above  all,  their  careless,  happy-go-lucky  dispositions,  they 
manage  to  got  along  very  comfortably.  So  long  as  they  can 
work,  and  they  do  work,  both  of  them,  they  live  very  well ; 
and  when  sickness  or  old  age  comes  there  are  excellent  hospi- 
tals to  go  to,  and  after  that  —  why,  the  church  has  fixed  their 
hereafter,  and  so  everything  is  smooth  with  them. 

Poverty  has  its  uses,  though,  desirable  as  it  is,  I  find  I  can 
get  on  with  a  very  little  of  it.  I  firmly  believe  that  in  time  I 
could  accustom  myself  to  riches,  and  really  enjoy  myself. 
But  it  may  never  be. 

Madame,  the  faro  bankeress,  is  at  the  same  hotel  with  us, 
and  is  getting  on  famously  in  French.  This  morning  at  break- 
fast—  she  calls  it  "dejaner"  —  much  to  the  waiter's  astonish- 
ment, she  ordered  "  cafe  o'  lay  —  with  milh^^  and  at  dinner? 
'''•frozen  champagne  glace,"  never  knowing,  poor  woman,  that 
cafe  au  lait  means,  simply,  coffee  with  milk,  and  champagne 
glace  is  simply  chilled  champagne.     But  it  did  nobody  else 


284  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

any  harm  except  the  waiter,  and  it  pleased  her.  She  remarked 
to  the  other  lady  that  she  was  sure  she  would  have  no  trouble 
in  getting  along  —  which  she  would  not,  as  the  waiter,  being 
an  Englishman,  could  understand  even  her  English,  except 
when  she  plunged  too  much  into  French. 

''  Have  you  been  to  the  Louvre  ?  "  asked  the  other  lady,  or 
the  lady,  to  be  accurate. 

"Oh,  no,  not  yet.  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  altogether  too 
sweet  for  anything,  but  I  have  not  had  time.  I  dote  on  art. 
But  I  have  found  a  new  place  where  you  can  get  such  lovely 
laces,  for  almost  nothing,  and  another  where  silk  hosiery  can 
be  had  for  less  than  half  what  you  have  to  pay  in  New  York. 
And  I  bought  such  a  lovely  dress  for  Lulu,  a  pearl  silk,  with 
such  a  lovely  waist,  and  an  embroidered  front,  with  roses 
embroidered  in  the  skirt.  It  is  just  like  the  one  she  wore  at 
the  children's  ball,  at  Mrs.  Thompson's,  last  Winter,  which  cost 
me  more  than  twice  what  this  one  did  and  wasn't  half  so  nice. 
But  Lulu  looked  altogether  too  sweet  for  anything  in  that, 
though,  and  everybody  at  the  ball  Avas  in  perfect  rapture  over 
her.  And  then  I'  bought  a  sweet  suit  for  little  Alfred,  my 
youngest  child,  nine  years  old.  It  is  such  a  perfectly  sweet 
httle  pair  of  pants  with  a  waist  that  buttons  on  just  lovely,  and 
with  red  stockings  and  purple  shoes  he  will  be  altogether  too 
sweet  for  anything.  They  will  fit,  for  I  have  the  measure  of 
both  the  children  with  me.  I  have  found  out  that  when  one 
travels  to  see  nature  and  things,  one  ought  always  to  be  pre- 
pared.    That's  why  I  brought  their  measure  with  me." 

At  this  point  the  husband  of  the  other  lady,  who  could  not 
help  hearing  all  this,  as  he  had  for  many  weary  days,  told  me 
an  anecdote  like  this : — 

"  A  young  man  with  a  very  bad  voice,  but  who  firmly  and 
steadfastly  believed  that  in  the  article  of  voice  he  was  the 
superior  of  Brignoli,  engaged  a  teacher  to  give  him  lessons. 
When  asked  how  he  liked  his  teacher  his  reply  was  that  he 
was  a  good  master,  but  he  was  altogether  too  religious  for  him. 

" How  too  religious? " 

<'  Why,  while  I  am  practicing,  he  walks  up  and  down  the 
room  wringing  his  hands  and  praying." 

"What  is  his  prayer?     What  does  he  pray  about? " 


THE    STRATEGY    OF    TIBBITTS. 


285 


"  I  can't  exactly  say,  but  I  caught  the  words,  '  Heavenly 
Father !  how  long  must  I  endure  this  ? '  There  was  doubtless 
something  the  matter  with  him." 

There  was  no  necessity  for  him  to  point  to  the  moral  of 
this,  for  the  stream  of  gabble  flowed  on  in  a  smooth  and  con- 
tinuous flow,  finding  no  rocks  of  thought  to  give  it  pictur- 
esqueness,  or  no  impediment  of  fact  to  make  it  pause.  It  was 
simply  the  wagging  of  a  tongue  that  was  hung  on  a  swivel  in 
the  middle  —  a  tongue  which  would  wag  so  long  as  the  lungs 
furnished  breath  and 
the  muscles  that 
moved  it  held  out. 
Inasmuch  as  she  has 
pleasant  rooms  and 
likes  the  hotel,  and 
will  not  move,  we 
are  going  to  find 
another.  But  prob- 
ably we  shall  find 
another  just  like  her 
at  the  new  place. 
They  are  the  people 
who  delight  in  travel 
and  are  everywhere. 

Tibbitts  has  made 
the  acquaintance  of 
a  wholesale  liquor 
dealer,  who  is  going 
to  "do"  Switzerland, 
and  Tibbitts  has  determined  to  join  him. 

"  Why  join  a  wholesale  liquor  dealer  ?  " 

"  With  an  eye  solely  to  the  future.  In  the  coming  years 
what  may  happen  to  me?  Will  it  not  be  handy  to  drop 
into  his  place,  and,  after  remarking  about  the  weather,  say, 
'  Thompson,  do  you  remember  it  was  just  five  years  ago 
to-day  tliat  we  climbed  Mont  Blanc  ?  .  And  do  you  remember 
when  you  gave  out  at  the  foot  of  the  first  glacier  how  I  pulled 
you  up  V  Or,  '  What  day  of  the  month  is  this  ?  16th  ?  Yes ; 
exactly  six  years  ago  to-day  we  were  skimming  over  the 


HOW  LONG  MUST  I  ENDURE  THIS?" 


286  NASBY   IN    EXILE. 

Brunig  Pass,  on  our  way  to  Lucerne.'  Then  he  can 't  do  less 
than  to  ask  me  to  take  something.  And  then  we  will  sit  and 
sit,  talking  over  our  European  experiences  and  drinking  his 
liquor.  I  shall  live  very  near  his  place,  so  as  to  have  it  handy. 
It  is  a  provision  for  a  doubtful  future.  You  are  altogether 
too  careless  about  such  things.  You  haven't  common  pru- 
dence. A  man  who  in  his  youth  do'  n't  lay  up  provision  for 
his  old  age  is  very  reckless  indeed.  I  count  the  association 
with  this  delightful  man  as  good  as  half  my  living  all  my  life. 
I  shall  try  to  strike  a  merchant  tailor  after  I  have  fixed  myself 
in  this  man's  memory,  and  after  that,  if  I  stay  long  enough,  a 
boot  and  shoe  man.  The  past  is  safe  ;  the  present  I  am  satis- 
fied with.  What  I  want  now  is  an  assured  future.  Then  I 
am  heeled." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    TARISIAN    GAMIN. 

■  Paris  has  one  institution  possessed  by  no  other  city  in  the 
world  —  the  genuine  street  Arab.  London  has,  heaven  knows, 
enough  homeless  waifs,  born  the  Lord  only  knows  where,  and 
brought  up  the  Lord  only  knows  how  ;  but  the  London  article 
is  no  more  like  the  Parisian  than  chalk  is  like  cheese.  The 
New  York  street  boy  comes  nearer  it  —  New  York  is  more 
like  Paris  than  any  other  city  — but  even  the  New  Yo^rk  Arab 
is  not  to  be  compared  with  the  Parisian.  He  stands  alone, 
a  miracle  of  impudence,  good  nature,  self-possession  and 
resource. 

Where  he  was  born  he  never  knows  and  never  cares.  He 
don't  carry  his  pedigree  in  his  pocket,  not  simply  because  he 
has  no  pocket,  but  because  he  don't  care  a  straw  about  it.  It 
doesn't  concern  him.  He  would  not  give  a  sou  to  be  the  son 
of  the  late  Emperor.  Birth  and  blood  concern  him  very  little. 
What  his  mind  is  running  on,  chiefly,  is  where  and  how  to  get 
a  crust  of  black  bread,  a  draught  of  very  cheap  wine,  and  a 
dry,  warm  place  to  sleep. 

His  mother  was,  and  is,  a  seamstress,  or  a  house  servant,  or 
woman  of  all  work,  or  a  shop  girl.  His  father  —  well,  it  is 
doubtful  if  the  mother  could  give  any  very  definite  informa- 
tion on  that  subject.  She  may  have  been  a  true  daughter  of 
Paris,  or  she  may  have  come  from  the  delicious  valleys  of 
Normandy  or  Brittany,  or  the  mountains  of  Switzerland,  with 
her  heavy  shoes,  her  quaint  bodice,  and  her  long,  braided 
hair  hanging  down  her  shapely  back.  She  got  work,  she 
wrought  in  a  clothing  warehouse,  or  she  went  behind  a 
counter;  then  came  the  balls  in  the  Latin  quarter  (it  is  a 
part  of  the  nature  of  the  girls  of  this  country  to  love  lights 

(287) 


288 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


and 


glitter 


and  dancing,   and  the  like);   then  appeared  the 


student  with  his  half-polished  brigandage,  and  then  began  the 
life  of  a  grisette.  They  lived  together  till  the  student  was 
called  home,  and  he  went  back  to  his  native  country  to  marry 
and  settle  down  into  respectable  citizenship,  forgetting  entirely 

the  poor  little  girl  he  left  be- 
hind, and  the  wee  baby  she 
had  borne  him. 

But  whoever  his  father  might 
have  been  he  never  saw  him  that 
he  remembers,  and  he  has  a 
very  indistinct  idea  of  what  a 
father  is. 

The  uncertainty  of  father- 
hood in  Paris  is  illustrated  by 
the.  grisette  who  was  walking 
with  her  little  boy.  A  funeral 
procession  was  passing : — 

"Who  is  it  that  is  dead?" 
asked  the  boy  of  his  mother. 

''|I  do  not  know,  but  take  off 
your  hat,  my  child.  It  may  be 
your  father ! " 

It  was  not  unlikely.  I  don't 
think  this  ever  happened,  how- 
ever, for  in  France,  every  one 
removes  his  hat  while  a  funeral 
passes.  They  are  polite  to  the 
dead  as  to  the  living.  Besides 
this,  the  boy  had  no  hat  to 
remove. 

He  knows  his  mother,  how- 
ever, very  well ;  he  remembers 
a  pale,  worn  woman,  who  always  gave  him  the  largest  half  of 
the  scant  bread,  and  assuaged  her  hunger  by  seeing  him  eat, 
and  who  managed  somehow  to  keep  the  rags  that  hung  about 
him  clean,  and  had  hidden  somewhere,  a  neat  and  tidy  suit  of 
•clothes  which  were  worn  only  on  fete  days,  and  when  they 
went  to  church.     IS^o  matter  about  the  father,  since  every  boy 


THE  MOTHER  OF  THE  GAMIN— AS  SHE  WAS. 


THE    MOTHER    OF    THE    GAMIN. 


289 


knows  who  his  mother  is,  and  he  knows  likewise  that  whatever 
may  happen  to  her,  he  is  sure  of  all  she  can  possibly  do  for 
him,  even  to  the  last,  the  supreme  sacrifice. 

They  lived  together  in  a  garret,  somewhere,  or  a  cellar. 
With  these  people  it  is  always  one  extreme  or  another, —  they 
never  have  the  middle  of  anything. 

Somehow  she  managed  to  make  the  little  den  they  existed 
in  rather  pleasant,  and  he  had  a  tolerably  happy  life.  Only 
the  mother  was 
compelled  to  leave 
him  very  much 
alone,  for  there  was 
the  black  bread  to 
earn,  and  no  mat- 
ter how  miserable 
their  apartment, 
there  was  some- 
thing to  pay  for 
rent.  He  was  left, 
always,  with  a 
score  of  others  just 
like  him,  with  an 
old  woman  who 
had  once  gone 
through  the  same 
experience,  and 
who,  unable  now 
to  do  other  work, 
earned  her  few 
sous  a  day  caring 
for  children  that 
were  short  a  father, 
and  whose  mothers 
were  skirmishing 
on  the  outside 
borders  of  existence 
for  enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  together.  This  was  all  very 
well  till  the  little  legs  were  strong  enough  to  walk,  and  the  old 
woman  could  no  longer  control  him.  Armed  with  the  preter- 
19 


THE   MOTHER  OF  THE   GAMIN  IN   THE   SERE   AND  TELLOW  LEAF. 


290 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


natural  sharpness  that  always  accompanies  poverty,  he  took  to 
the  streets,  and,  in  the  old  times  when  begging  was  permitted, 
he  was  a  beggar.  'Now  he  is  anything.  He  scorns  regular 
work,  he  is  a  hawk,  who  picks  up  his  living  here,  there  and 
everywhere.     He  may  be  on  the  boulevards,  and  a  handker- 


THE  AGED  PICKER -UP  OF  CIGAR  STUMPS. 

chief  may  be  dropped;  the  apple- women,  sharp  as  they  are, 
find  in  him  a  most  competent  brigand.  There  are  cigar -stumps 
to  be  picked  up,  and  they  are  worth  something  an  ounce  to  be 


THE    GAMIN    AND    HIS    MOTHER.  291 

worked  over  into  smoking  tobacco.  Everywhere  in  the  great 
city  there  are  unconsidered  trifles,  but  an  unconsidered  trifle  is 
everything  to  a  boy  who  has  no  use  for  clothing,  and  to  whom 
a  crust  of  bread  is  enough  for  a  day. 

Finally,  at  the  mature  age  of  eight,  or  thereabouts,  he  leaves 
his  mother ;  or,  rather,  some  night  he  does  not  come  home. 
He  has  found  a  dry  place  under  an  arch  to  sleep,  or  a  hole  in 
the  docks,  and  he  has  associated  with  him  other  boys  of  the 
same  breed;   now  he  is  an  independent  citizen. 

His  mother  knows  the  way  of  the  world,  and  she  goes 
right  on,  sure  that  her  child  is  hving,  and,  in  his  way,  well. 

He  occasionally  goes  to  see  her,  till  she  moves  some  time 
suddenly,  and  is  lost  to  him  in  the  great  desert. 

He  probably  never  sees  her  again.  If  she  gets  on  weU  and 
keeps  her  health  she  dies  finally  in  a  hospital  —  if  not,  a  plunge 
in  the  Seine  ends  her  struggles  with  a  very  hard  world.  ]^ot 
infrequently  his  last  look  at  her  is  taken  in  the  Morgue. 

While  he  is  a  boy  he  leads  a  very  independent  and  happy 
life.  He  toils  not,  neither  does  he  spin ;  he  does  not  dine  at 
the  Maison  Doree ;  nor  does  he  drink  champagne  or  burgundy. 
He  drinks  wine  when  he  can  get  it,  and  water  fr9m.  the  public 
fountain  when  he  cannot.  He  eats  black  bread  when  he  has  a 
sou  to  buy  it  with ;  lacking  the  sou,  there  are  always  opportu- 
nities to  steal  an  apple,  and  failing  in  that,  there  are  apple 
cores  to  be  picked  up  on  the  streets. 

As  for  clothing,  very  httle  does  him ;  very  little,  but  where 
he  obtains  that  little,  I  have  never  been  able  to  ascertain.  He 
gets  it,  though,  somehow,  each  article  in  the  suit  coming  from 
a  different  source,  and  all  just  strong  enough  to  hold  together. 
A  picturesque  vagabond  it  makes  of  him. 

•His  conversation  is  something  wonderful.  There  isn't  a 
slang  phrase  in  French  that  he  has  not,  and  as  the  mothers 
are  of  all  nations,  he  has  made  piratical  excursions  into  other 
languages,  and  has  the  worst  of  them  all.  He  can  swear  very 
well  in  English,  not  the  unctuous,  brutal  oaths  of  the  American 
or  Englishman,  for  even  a  Parisian  gamin  has  taste,  but 
English  oaths  lose  none  of  their  strength  in  him.  He  orna- 
ments them,  but  not  to  the  degree  of  weakening. 


292  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

No  Frenchman  would  ever  think  of  chaffing  a  gamin  twice, 
for  he  knows  by  bitter  experience  that  the  gamin  always  gets 
the  best  of  it,  and  the  first  and  last  time  he  tried  it  he  retired 
with  everybody  laughing  but  himself  and  the  boy.  He  did 
not  laugh,  because  the  boy  had  routed  him,  horse,  foot  and 
dragoon  —  tHe  boy  did  not,  because  to  have  laughed  would 
have  been  undignified,  and  lessened  the  effect  of  his  wordy 
victory.  He  professed  to  sympathize  with  his  victim,  which 
was  adding  insult  to  injury. 

In  this  matter  of  talk  the  very  cabmen  are  afraid  of  him, 
and  the  policemen  dread  him.  It  is  his  delight  to  catch  a 
policeman  or  a  soldier  in  a  position  where  he  cannot  move, 
and  to  cover  him  with  not  exactly  abuse,  but  what  the  English 
call  chaff.  He  makes  the  poor  fellow  ridiculous;  he  sets  a 
crowd  laughing  at  him,  and  does  it  in  perfect  safety,  too,  for 
the  official  cannot  leave  his  post  to  capture  and  punish  him, 
and  if  he  could  it  would  do  no  good.  The  urchin  is  as  slippery 
as  an  eel,  and  as  fleet  as  an  antelope.  He  can  slip  through  the 
crowd  and  be  a  safe  distance  long  before  the  encumbered  man 
has  made  up  his  mind  to  go  for  him. 

These  boys  make  up  no  small  portion  of  every  mob  that 
has  devastated  Paris  for  centuries,  and  popular  risings  are 
altogether  too  common  for  comfort  in  that  excitable  city.  In 
all  the  revolutions  these  little  fellows  have  handled  muskets 
and  pikes,  and  made  much  of  them.  The  gamin  was  foremost 
in  the  mob  that  leveled  the  Bastille  to  the  ground,  and  when 
that  monument  of  irresponsible  tyranny  was  in  ruins  the  dead 
bodies  of  hundreds  of  them  were  found  underneath  them,  and 
the  living  bodies  of  hundreds  of  others  waved  their  crownless 
hats  over  the  smoking  debris.  There  never  has  been  a  barri- 
cade erected  that  had  not  gamins  behind  it,  boys  of  fourteen, 
fighting  as  coolly  and  steadily  as  grizzled  veterans  of  sixty. 

They  knew  not  what  they  were  fighting  for,  nor  cared. 
They  only  felt  it  was  the  people  against  the  recognized  author- 
ities, and  that  was  enough.  The  Parisian  gamin  hates  the 
authorities,  for  his  chief  idea  is  that  the  name  means  a  prison^ 
police,  and  everything  else  that  a  brigand  in  a  small  way  don't 
like.    He  loves  commotion,  for  commotion  signifies  excitement. 


AN    mTERVIEW    WITH    A    GAMIN.  293 

and  excitement  is  as  necessary  to  him  as  bread  itself.  He  will 
stand  behind  a  barricade  and  load  and  fire  as  long  as  the 
oldest  man,  and,  firing  with  a  musket,  he  is  as  good  as  a  giant. 

There  are  theaters  which  he  patronizes  regularly,  for  next 
to  a  revolution  he  loves  the  theater.  Where  he  procures  the 
money  for  admission,  small  as  it  is,  heaven  only  knows ;  but 
he  gets  it  somehow,  for  he  is  there  nearly  every  night.  If  he 
cannot  get  in  at  the  beginning,  he  hangs  about  the  entrances, 
waiting  for  some  good-natured  man,  who  does  not  care  to  see 
the  performance  out,  to  give  him  his  check,  or  he  wheedles  a 
good  natured  doorman  into  letting  him  pass.  And  once  in, 
there  is  no  adult  in  the  audience  who  is  so  critical  an  auditor. 
He  knows  all  about  the  drama,  all  about  the  music,  and  all 
about  everything  connected  with  it.  He  applauds  at  the  right 
place,  and  if  there  be  the  slightest  fault  of  omission  or  com- 
mission in  the  representation,  his  hiss  is  the  first  and  the 
most  distinct  and  deadly. 

The  Parisian  actor  dreads  the  gamin  almost  as  much  as  he 
does  the  newspaper  critics.  They  have  made  and  unmade 
many  an  aspirant  for  pubhc  favor. 

I  gave  a  sou  to  one  for  the  privilege  of  a  minute's  conversa- 
tion. (I  had  a  friend  to  translate  —  a  street  boy  would  not 
understand  my  French.) 

"  "Where  were  you  born  ?  " 

There  was  a  comprehensive  wave  of  the  hand  which  took 
in  all  Paris.     He  might  have  been  born  all  over  the  vast  city. 

"  How  do  you  live  1 " 

There  was  an  expressive  shrug  of  the  shoulders  that  meant 
anything  you  cliose. 

"What  are  you  intending  to  do  when  you  are  older?  " 

Another  expressive  shrug,  as  if  to  say  "  Who  knows  ? " 
(These  French  boys  can  talk  more  wath  their  arms  and  shoul- 
ders than  other  people  can  with  their  tongues.) 

But  when  he  saw  the  sou  in  hand  he  had  expression  enough 
all  over  hiin  for  a  dozen  boys.  He  took  it  with  the  invariable 
"  Merci,  Monsieur,"  and  darting  away,  in  a  minute  re-appeared 
with  a  loaf  of  black  bread,  and  was  as  willing  to  be  commu- 
nicative as  you  desired. 

All  that  could  be  gathered  from  him  was  that  his  mother 


294 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


was  a  washerwoman,  his  father  the  Lord  only  knew,  and  he 
had  been  living  on  the  streets  as  long  as  he  could  remember 

anything.  That  was  all. 
That  was  his  beginning — 
his  end  was  in  the  hands 
of  fate;  possibly  one  thing, 
and  possibly  another,  but, 
one  thing  or  another,  he 
had  bread  enough  to  last 
him  twenty-four  hours,  and 
he  was  more  happy  than 
many  a  man  in  a  palace. 

They  are  ubiquitous,  and 
all  alike.     Their  being  all 
alike  is  what  makes  them 
ubiquitous.     You  see  him 
on  the  boulevards  —  you 
dive     down    from     those 
dizzy    heights    of     splen- 
dor, from  the  broad  glare 
of    that  magnificence,  to 
the  poverty-made  twilight  of  the  Latin  quarter,  or  the  Cim- 
merian gloom  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  and  you  see  him. 
Just  the  same.     He  wears  the  same  reminiscence  of  a  hat, 
the  same  re*mnants  of  trowsers,  the  same  shirt  with  holes  torn 
in  it  in  the  same  places,  the  flag  of  distress  floats  from  the 
same  quarter,  if,  indeed,  the  shirt  is  long  enough  to  boast  a 
lower  end,  and  the  bare  feet   in  the  summer,  and  the  dilapi- 
dated shoes  in  the  winter,  are  the  same.     It  is  not  the  same 
boy,  but  it  is  the  boy  cast  in  the  same  mold,  and  with  all  the 
others,  subject  to  the  same  conditions,  and  consequently  exactly 
like  as  peas. 

Nature  makes  men  in  molds.  N'oblemen's  sons  have  some- 
thing in  their  make-up  besides  their  clothes,  and  so  have  the 
children  of  poverty.  A  pallet  in  a  garret,  or,  more  usually, 
the  bare  floor ;  a  crust,  or  the  core  of  an  apple  at  rare  and 
uncertain  intervals,  are  as  certain  to  produce  one  typical  face 
and  a  typical  body  as  luxurious  beds  and  rich  food  do  another. 
The  Parisian  gamins  are  alike  wherever  you  see  them,  for 


A  TALK  WITH  A  GAMIN. 


WHAT   BECOMES    OF   THE    GAMIN.  295 

they  all  come  from  one  stock,  and  are  all  brought  up  in  one 
way.  So  nearly  are  they  alike  that  the  old  saying  might  well 
be  reversed.  Instead  of  its  being  "It's  a  wise  child  that 
knows  its  own  father,"  it  should  read  "  It's  a  wise  mother  that 
knows  her  own  child."  With  these  waifs,  a  child's  knowing, 
or  even  guessing,  at  its  own  father,  would  be  an  idea  utterly 
chimerical. 

Yet  they  are  good-natured,  and  even  kind  to  each  other. 
There  are  girl  vagabonds  and  girl  waifs  as  well  as  boy  waifs. 
The  bo3^s  are  wonderfully  good  to  the  little  homeless  girls 
who  are  too  Arab -like  to  go  to  the  retreats  provided  for  them 
by  the  Government.  If  the  boy  has  a  warm  place  under  a 
bridge  or  over  a  lime  kiln,  he  gives  it  up  to  the  wandermg 
female  rat,  with  as  much  chivalry  as  any  grand  Seigneur  could 
display,  and  he  shares  with  her  the  result  of  his  predatory 
excursions,  even  going  a  trifle  more  hungry  himself  that  she 
may  not  entirely  starve.  They  are  always  hungry  —  it  is  only 
a  question  of  how  hungry  they  may  be. 

What  becomes  of  them  ?  I  don't  know.  Sometimes  they 
get  into  other  ways  and  grow  into  respectable  citizens.  Occa- 
sionally one  of  them  is  sufficiently  tamed  to  learn  a  trade,  if 
some  citizen  picks  him  up  and  cares  for  him,  and  now  and  then 
a  street  boy  or  girl  drifts,  by  accident,  into  a  profession  and 
becomes  eminent.  The  great  French  actress,  Rachel,  was  a 
street  girl,  whose  only  fortune  was  her  guitar,  and  whose 
living  was  made  by  singing  in  front  of  cafes.  By  hook  or 
crook  she  got  upon  the  stage,  and  once  there  her  genius  made 
her  way  for  her.  The  Frenchman  cares  nothing  for  birth  or 
position  in  the  matter  of  genius.  He  wants  good  singing  and 
good  acting,  and  he  cares  not  whether  the  singer  or  actor 
comes  from  the  gutter  or  the  palace.  If  from  the  gutter,  the 
genius  which  delights  him  removes  the  slime,  and  he  does  it 
even  greater  honor  than  as  though  it  had  been  pushed  by 
more  favorable  circumstances. 

Rachel  not  only  made  a  world-wide  fame,  but  she  raised 
her  family,  all  of  whom  were  as  poor  and  low^  down  as  herself, 
to  the  very  heights  of  French  grandeur.  One  of  the  Felix 
girls  —  that  is  their  name  —  is  now^  the  wealthy  and  prosperous 
manufacturer  of  a  face  powder,  which  is  the  delight  of  the 


296  NASBY   IN    EXILE. 

upper  classes.  With  the  shrewdness  of  the  Israelite,  she  did 
not  go  into  groceries  or  such  trifles.  She  knew  the  French 
people  too  well.  She  invented  a  face  powder  and  hair  restora- 
tive, and  waxed  rich.  She  will  marry  her  daughters  to 
noblemen,  and  possibly  Kings  may  spring  from  a  line  that 
once  was  delighted  with  a  sou  thrown  into  the  gutter  for 
them  to  scramble  for. 

One  of  the  great  chocolate  manufacturers,  whose  name  is 
known  wherever  there  is  civilization,  who  counts  his  residences 
by  the  dozen,  and  his  wealth  by  millions,  was  a  gamin  till 
he  was  eighteen„ 

Some  of  them,  hke  Eachel,  from  their  intense  love  of  the 
drama,  get  to  be  actors,  when  they  are  old  enough.  Some  of 
them  become  rag-pickers,  or  work  into  other  employments  of 
a  semi-vagabondizing  nature;  some  of  them  become  thieves, 
and  take  in  all  the  range  of  crime  from  picking  a  pocket  to 
committing  murder,  and  numbers  of  them  go  into  the  army 
and  navy. 

But  these  instances  are  comparatively  rare.  The  gamin 
grows,  as  a  rule,  into  a  vagabond,  the  vagabond  into  a  crim- 
inal, and  the  criminal  either  ends  at  the  guillotine  or  in  the 
prison  hospital.  A  lucky  chance  may  graft  something  better 
on  them,  or  a  revolution  may  afford  them  opportunities  for 
distinction  in  a  military  way,  but  those  so  promoted  are  excep- 
tions.    The  rule  is  quite  the  other  way. 

In  l!^ew  York  these  human  rats  sell  newspapers,  clean 
boots,  and  do  things  of  that  nature,  nominally.  The  genuine 
Parisian  gamin  might  do  this,  for  there  are  papers  cried  and 
sold  on  the  street,  though  the  most  of  this  trade  is  transacted 
in  picturesque  little  buildings  called  "  Kiosques."  But  he  wiU 
have  none  of  it.  Should  he  labor  or  do  anything  approaching 
labor,  he  would  lose  caste  with  his  fellows,  and  become  to  them 
a  social  pariah. 

One  important  specimen  of  the  kind,  nine  years  old,  and 
weighing,  perhaps,  fifty  pounds,  saw  a  former  member  of  the 
fraternity,  Avho  had  seceded,  passing  with  packages  to  deliver, 
neatly  dressed,  and  with  a  general  air  of  being  well  cared  for, 
and  comfortably  fed  and  housed. 

The   ragamuffin   looked  upon   him  with  an  expression  of 


THE    SECEDING    GAMIN.  297 

t     contempt  never  equalled  off  the  stage,  and  he  called  the  atten- 
tion of  a  score  of  his  ragged  comrades  to  the  seceder : — 

^'Look  at  him!  just  look  at  him!  He  has  got  to  be  a 
baker's  boy !  Poor  devil !  Poor  devil !  He  has  clothes,  he 
has  a  cap  on  his  head,  and  shoes  on  his  feet.  He  sits  at  a 
table  with  the  maid,  and  eats  three  times  a  day,  and  has  a 
bed  to  sleep  in !  He  will  never  more  be  one  of  us !  He  is 
ruined!  Poor  devil!  Why  can't  everybody  have  spirit? 
Bah  !     A  bed  to  sleep  in,  and  regular  meals ! " 

And  the  mob  of  ragamuffins  jeered  and  hooted  at  him 
as  he  passed,  and  the  boy  himself  looked  as  though  he  had 
been  a  traitor  to  his  class,  and  as  if  he  had  half  a  mind  to 
confiscate  the  bread  he  was  carrying  and  return  to  his  former 
fellows. 

The  young  bundle  of  rags  felt  all  that  he  said.  To  him 
this  desertion  from  a  life  of  vagabondage  was  a  betrayal,  as  it 
were,  and  he  felt,  actually,  a  supreme  pity  for  the  gamin  who 
could  be  anything  else  for  so  small  a  consideration  as  a  com- 
fortable life.  To  him  the  liberty  of  the  streets  was  better  than 
any  house  that  required  regularity.  He  would  not  have  dined 
at  the  Grand  Hotel  if  it  required  his  coming  at  regular  hours, 

And  after  venting  his  opinion  he  went  out  in  search  of 
something  to  eat,  and  if  he  found  that  something  he  was 
happy  —  if  not  it  was  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and  to  sleep  an 
hour  or  two  sooner.  They  have  a  trick  of  making  a  dinner 
upon  an  hour  or  two  of  sleep,  and  an  enjoyable  breakfast  by 
not  waking  up  till  dinner  time.  It  is  an  economical  way  of 
living,  but  not  conducive  to  increase  of  flesh.  How  long  they 
can  stand  it  has  never  been  determined,  for,  not  regarding  the 
interests  of  science,  they  always  manage  to  find  a  crust,  or  a 
bone,  or  something,  just  as  the  experiment  is  getting  to  be 
interesting.  ]S"one  of  them  have  ever  been  willing  to  die  in  the 
interest  of  science.     They  are  largely  devoted  to  themselves. 

The  gamin  of  Paris  is  deserving  of  more  credit  than  the 
gamin  of  'New  York,  for  he  has  nothing  especially  cheerful 
before  him.  When  he  ceases  to  be  a  vagabond  boy  he  becomes 
a  vagabond  man,  except  in  the  rare  cases  I  have  mentioned, 
and  ends  his  career,  as  vagabond  men  do,  the  world  over. 

In  New  York  the  ending  is  quite   difi'erent  —  indeed  the 


298  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

vagabond  boy  has  better  opportunities  than  the  good  boy. 
For  in  I^Tew  York  he  loafs  about  gin  mills,  and  he  has  the 
advantages  of  free  lunches,  an  institution  unknown  in  Paris, 
and  the  good  old  ladies  get  up  excursions  for  him,  and  give 
him  sandwiches  and  ice  cream,  in  the  hopes  of  reaching  his 
better  nature  through  the  medium  of  his  stomach,  they  firmly 
believing  there  is  a  better  nature,  and  as  it  has  never  been 
seen  it  must  be  in  the  stomach.  In  time  he  grows  up  and  gets 
as  far  along  as  to  have  that  blessed  boon  of  the  ballot,  and 
becomes  useful  to  the  politicians,  who  transfer  him  from  the 
front  of  the  bar  to  the  back  of  it,  and  he  has  a  gin  mill  of  his 
own,  and  controls  votes,  and  "  hez  inflooence  in  my  warrud." 

When  his  "inflooence"  is  sufficient,  he  boldly  demands 
office  for  himself  and  becomes  a  School  Commissioner,  or  an 
Alderman,  and  finally  goes  to  the  Legislature  and  waxes  enor- 
mously rich,  and  his  wife — for  this  sort  of  a  fellow^  marries 
when  he  gets  off  the  streets  and  has  a  gin  mill  of  his  own  — 
wears  diamonds  and  has  a  carriage. 

It  was  Teddy  McShane,  and  Mickey  O'Finnegan,  two  of 
this  class,  who  got  into  the  Board  of  Aldermen  of  ISTew  York. 
Alderman  McShane  had  heard  of  gondolas  and  wanted  a  few 
in  the  little  lakes  in  the  park,  for,  of  course,  had  his  motion 
prevailed  he  would  have  got  his  commission  from  the  builder 
thereof.     And  so  he  spoke : — 

"Misther  Prisidint  —  We  cannot  be  too  liberal  in  orna- 
mintin'  our  parruks.  A  parruk  is  for  the  paple,  and  they 
should  be  ornamintid.  To  this  ind,  I  move  ye  sorr,  that 
twinty  gondolas  be  purchast  for  the  lakes  in  Cintril  Parruk 
to-wanst." 

Alderman  McFinnegan,  who  saw  a  job  in  this,  decided  to 
oppose  it  till  McShane  should  come  to  him  and  propose  a 
divide.     And  so  he  said : — 

"Misther  Prisidint—  JSTo  man  in  JSTew  Yorrick  will  go 
furdther  in  ornamintin'  the  city  than  mesilf ;  but  the  paple's 
money  musht  not  be  squandered.  Why  buy  twinty  gondolas, 
to-wanst?  Why  not  buy  two  —  a  male  and  a  faymale,  and 
breed  thim  ourselves  1 " 

The  Parisian  gamin  can  do  nothing  of  this  kind  —  indeed, 
it  is  impossible  in  Paris,  and  he  would  not  want  to  do  it  if  it 
were  possible.     He  does  not  care  for  money  ;  he  does  not  long 


A    CONTENTED    BEING. 

for  houses  and  lands  or  a  fixed  habitation.  If  he  had  the  best 
house  in  Paris,  with  silken  beds  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  the 
second  night  he  would  steal  away  and  sleep  comfortably  under 
an  arch,  or  in  one  of  his  accustomed  places.  He  is  very  like 
one  of  the  chiefs  of  the  Onondaga  Indians,  who  was  persuaded 
to  build  him  a  house  in  the  civilized  fashion.  He  slept  in  it 
one  night  and  the  next  morning  broke  every  pane  of  glass  out 
of  the  windows.  That  night  he  slumbered  with  the  rain  and 
sleet  pouring  in  upon  him,  and  was  happy.  That  was  some- 
thing like. 

The  Parisian  gamin,  grown  to  be  a  man,  could  not  sit  still 
long  enough  to  make  an  efficient  Alderman,  and  he  would  not 
give  a  turn  of  his  hand  for  all  the  money  that  could  be  made 
out  of  the  position.  He  can  be  happy  with  rags  and  a  crust, 
and  what  is  money  to  such  a  being  ?  He  understands  better 
than  any  philosopher,  that  riches  consist  in  not  how  much  you 
have,  as  how  little  you  can  get  on  with.  If  rags  and  apple 
cores  suffice,  why  more  ? 

And  so  he  does  n't  go  about  speculating  in  stocks,  and  get- 
ting "  politikle  inflooence,"  as  his  counterpart  in  New  York 
does,  but  he  is  content  with  what  he  finds  himself.  Ko  one 
ever  heard  of  a  Parisian  grown-up  gamin  attempting  to  con- 
trol railroads,  or  build  steamships,  or  anything  of  the  sort. 
He  dies  as  he  lived,  and  is  always  happy.  Possibly  he  is  the 
wise  man.     Who  shall  say? 

But  he  is  a  part  and  parcel  of  French  civilization  —  a  natu- 
ral outgrowth  of  French  habits  and  customs.  Without  the 
gamin,  Paris  would  not  be  Paris.  Bad  as  he  may  be,  he  is 
always  like  Artemus  Ward's  kangaroo,  "an  amoosin'  little 
cuss,"  a  perpetual  mystery,  an  everlasting  study,  and  something 
that  no  other  city  in  the  world  possesses.  He  can  live  on  less 
and  get  more  happiness  out  of  it  than  any  other  human  being 
on  earth ;  but  he  could  not  exist  out  of  Paris.  He  had  rather 
be  in  prison  in  Paris  than  to  have  a  palace  anywhere  else.  He 
belongs  to  that  atmosphere,  to  those  surroundings,  and  can 
exist  nowhere  else  in  the  world.  He  is  a  savage  in  the  midst 
of  the  highest  civilization,  a  drone  in  a  hive  of  industry,  and 
hungry  in  the  midst  of  plenty.  He  is  everything  that  he 
should  not  be.  Nevertheless,  I  rather  like  him,  to  say  the 
least.     He  is  picturesque. 


CHAPTEK   XX. 


HOW    PAKIS    AMUSES    ITSELF. 


The  average  Parisian  thinks  of  but  two  things  —  how  to 
get  the  wherewith  to  amuse  himself,  and  how  to  get  the  most 
amusement  out  of  that  wherewith.  I  doubt  if  he  ever  thinks 
of  any  hereafter  beyond  to-night.  His  religion  is  admirably 
adapted  to  his  nature.  He  is  either  a  Cathohc  or  an  infidel. 
If  a  Catholic,  a  few  minutes  at  the  end  suffices  to  fix  him  for 
the  next  world  ;  if  an  infidel,  death  is  annihilation,  and  there- 
fore he  proposes  to  have  as  much  enjoyment  as  possible  out  of 
the  present. 

Paris  would  not  be  a  good  place  for  a  series  of  revival 
meetings.  The  Parisian  would  jeer  at  the  exhorters,  and  say, 
"  G-o  to  !  " 

Pans  supports  seventy  theaters,  good,  bad,  and  indifferent. 
It  is  not  fair  to  use  the  words  "  bad  and  indifferent,"  with 
reference  to  the  quality  of  acting,  for  there  is  no  bad  acting 
in  Paris.  It  is  as  to  the  quality  and  material  of  the  represen. 
tations.  They  have  all  kinds,  from  the  gorgeous  Italian  opera 
down  to  the  small  and  cheap  affairs  in  which  burlesque  comic 
opera  of  the  funniest,  and  melodrama  of  the  most  lurid 
character  is  performed,  for  the  especial  delectation  of  the 
lower  classes. 

The  theaters  devoted  to  the  melodrama  are  of  the  most 
melodramatic  kind.  There  can  be  no  crime  too  horrible  for 
representation,  and  the  situations  cannot  be  too  intense,  or  the 
plot  too  complicated.  French  life,  like  French  cooking,  must 
have  any  quantity  of  pepper  in  it. 

About  the  least  thrilling  situation  that  would  be  considered 
good  in  these  theaters  would  be  the  chopping  up  of  the 
villain's  grandmother,  and  the  roasting  alive  of  a  parcel  of 

(300) 


A    MELO- DRAMA.  301 

illegit'mate  children,  to  hide  tlie  consequences  of  a  "  damning 
crime."  Tliere  is  always  any  quantity  of  blowing  up  of 
towers,  of  stabbings  and  shootings  and  bludgeonings,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  There  are  secret  passages  in  ancient 
castles,  and  paid  cut-throats,  and  blue  lights,  and  heroines 
with  hair  hanging  down  their  backs,  and  everything  pertain- 
ing to  what  in  America  is  known  as  the  ''  blood  and  thunder 
drama." 

One  that  I  saw  reminded  me  of  an  incident  that  happened 
at  home  many  years  ago.  In  a  village  in  which  I  was  resid- 
ing, there  came  the  usual  strolling  company  of  players  of  the 
olden  time,  the  sad-faced  men  and  wan  women,  who  knew  b}^ 
actual  walking  all  the  various  roads  in  the  United  States,  to 
whom  a  good  house  would  be  a  novelty  that  would  make  them 
uncomfortable.  They  had  played  to  empty  benches  so  long 
that  they  could  not  do  well  if  living  people  occupied  the  seats. 

I  was  fond  of  the  drama,  and  the  variety  that  we  had 
there  was  better  than  none  at  all ;  so  that  I  always  patronized 
the  strolling  companies,  attended  invariably  by  a  German 
physician  who  was  quite  as  fond  as  myself  of  theatrical  repre- 
sentations, and  who,  like  myself,  preferred  a  half  loaf  to  no 
bread.     We  went  together  that  night. 

The  play  on  the  occasion  was  that  cheerful  drama  from  the 
French,  "  La  Tour  de  Nesle."  The  plot  is  variegated,  to  say 
the  least.  Margaret  of  Burgundy  is  afflicted  with  a  desire  for 
lovers,  and  she  has  a  tower  in  which  she  receives  them  and 
holds  her  orgies.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  invited  to  sup 
with  the  fair  Margaret,  while  the  supper  lasts,  but  the  pleasure 
doesn't  hold  out.  It  is  not  continuous.  For  when  you  have 
bidden  her  good-evening,  and  get  your  hat  on,  you  come  across 
a  trap  door  on  which  you  step,  and  you  go  down  several 
hundred  feet,  and  alight  on  spikes  situated  conveniently  in  a 
bed  of  quick-lime,  and  your  friends  never  know  what  has 
become  of  you  ;  and  if  your  life  is  insured  there  is  always 
trouble  about  that,  for  there  can  be  no  proof  of  your  death. 
Margaret  loved  amusement,  but,  for  reasons,  she  desired  no 
living  witnesses  of  her  escapades. 

She  fell  in  love  once  with  a  captain  in  the  French  army, 
one  Buridan,  and  invited  him  to  one  of  her  little  receptions. 


302  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

The  disappearance  of  so  many  of  her  gallants  had  made  the 
youth  in  the  neighborhood  rather  wary  of  her,  and  Buridan 
was  advised  not  to  go,  and  good  reason  was  given.  An  inti- 
mate friend  of  his  had  disappeared  mysteriously  a  little  while 
before,  and  the  last  that  was  ever  heard  of  him  was  when  he 
entered  the  tower. 

Hearing  of  this,  Buridan  determined  to  go  anyhow,  and 
find  out  whether  this  friend  had  really  dropped  out  of  the 
way,  via  the  tower.  He  went  and  supped  with  the  fair  Mar- 
garet, with  whom  he  fell  in  love  in  the  regular  French  fashion. 
For  reasons  of  her  own,  Margaret  did  not  want  him  to  take 
the  regular  walk  over  the  trap-door,  but  desired  to  let  him  out 
another  way.  All  would  have  been  well  had  not  Buridan 
discovered,  inopportunely,  that  his  friend  had  been  in  the 
same  room,  and  had  stepped  on  and  gone  through  the  trap, 
and  that  the  lime  had  finished  him.  Margaret  confessed  it, 
whereupon  Buridan  drew  his  sword  and  killed  her  to  avenge 
his  friend.  Before  Margaret  passed  out  she  informed  Buridan 
that  he  was  her  son !  Buridan  then  immediately  killed  some- 
body else,  and  that  one,  before  dying,  stabbed  another,  and  so 
on,  till  the  entire  company,  fifteen  in  all,  were  piled  upon  the 
stage  like  cord-wood,  which  ended  the  play,  there  being  no 
living  actors  to  continue  it. 

My  friend,  the  German  physician,  rose  and  remarked  : 

*'  My  frendt,  dere  ish  shoost  one  ding  lacking  to  make  dish 
blay  gomplete.  Der  beople  on  der  stage  ish  all  deadt.  De 
first  violin  shood  now  stab  der  second  violin  mit  his  bow,  and 
gommit  soocide  mit  himself  by  schwallowing  his  fiddle.  Dot 
wood  endt  de  entire  gompany." 

As  we  were  leaving  the  hall  a  young  man  named  Smith, 
who  was  always  blatting  about  art,  and  music,  and  the  drama, 
and  such  things,  having  been  in  New  York  once,  seized  the 
doctor  and  said,  ''  Was  it  not  a  good  performance  ?  There  is 
power  in  this  company.  Have  you  anything  better  in  Ger- 
many ? " 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  pityingly. 

"  My  tear  young  man,  you  are  not  to  plame.  I  pity  you. 
When  de  Almighty  rained  common  sense,  de  Schmidt  family 
all  shtood  unter  umbrellas." 


THE    GRAND    OPEKA.  303 

''  La  Tour  de  l^esle,"  as  lurid  as  is  its  plot,  would  be  mild 
meat  for  the  frequenters  of  the  minor  theaters  of  Paris.  They 
would  insist  upon  seeing  the  actual  trap-door,  and  the  lovers  of 
Margaret  falling  through  it,  and  I  am  not  sure  but  what  they 
would  demand  real  spikes  and  lime. 

You  pay  enormous  prices  in  the  one  class  and  next  to  noth- 
ing at  the  other ;  but  in  both  the  standard  of  performance  is  a 
very  high  one,  and  is  rigidly  maintained.  The  Parisian,  gamin 
or  marquis,  will  have  no  bad  music  or  acting.  He  may  tolerate 
adulteration  in  his  food,  but  none  in  his  amusements. 

It  was  always  the  policy  of  the  French  government  to  see 
that  the  people  were  sufficiently  amused,  and  also  to  do  every 
thing  possible  to  attract  strangers  to  the  gay  capital.  There- 
fore, the  theaters  are  the  most  gorgeous  in  the  world,  and  as  it 
would  be  impossible  to  maintain  them  from  the  admission 
receipts,  the  deficiencies  are  made  up  from  the  public  treasury. 
The  Grand  Opera  receives  from  the  government  nearly  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars  per  year,  and  a  number  of  other 
theaters  receive  like  support,  the  entire  amount  thus  paid 
aggregating  something  over  six  hundred  thousand  dollars  per 
year.  The  citizen  who  may  never  see  the  inside  of  the  Opera 
House  is  content  with  this,  for  it  attracts  to  Paris  the  foreign 
sheep  whose  fleece  is  his  living.  Without  the  Opera  the  rich 
American  would  not  come  to  Paris,  and  then  what  would 
trade  be  ?  The  Parisian  shopkeeper  pays  that  tax  willingly ; 
and  they  pay  their  artists  well,  so  as  to  have  and  keep  the 
best.  Any  eminent  tenor  has  a  salary  of  twenty  to  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  per  annum ;  and  other  talent  in  propor. 
tion.  It  is  not  a  bad  thin^  to  be  a  tenor  in  Paris.  The  salary 
is  very  comfortable. 

In  addition  to  the  regular  theaters  there  are  numberless 
open-air  concerts  and  variety  performances  in  gardens,  the 
spectators  sitting  on  benches  on  the  sand,  the  stage  only  being 
covered.  These  are  always  brilliantly  lighted,  and  most  artist- 
ically and  profusely  ornamented,  and  as  attractive  to  the  Pari- 
sian as  to  the  stranger. 

There  is  no  entrance  fee  to  these  places.  You  wonder  at 
the  liberality  of  the  proprietor,  and  say  to  yourself,  if  you 
could  only  find  a  hotel  with  similar  views,  you  would  immedi- 


304  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

ately  remove  to  Paris,  and  make  it  a  permanent  residence. 
But  once  inside,  you  find  a  pang  in  store  for  you.  The  free 
entrance  is  merely  to  evade  some  ordinance  or  other,  and  you 
are  required  to  purchase  refreshments,  and  no  matter  what  it 
is,  an  ice  or  a  glass  of  beer,  the  price  is  the  same,  three  francs, 
or  sixty  cents,  which  makes  really  a  high  admission,  even  for 
Paris.  It  is  the  same  as  though  a  landlord  should  make  no 
charge  for  his  rooms,  but  compel  you  to  pay  two  dollars  for 
the  privilege  of  getting  into  bed.  Nowhere  can  something  be 
had  for  nothing,  and  the  more  liberal  it  is  at  the  beginning, 
the  dearer  it  is  at  the  ending. 

But  the  chief  delight  of  the  middle  and  lower  class  of 
Parisians  is  the  ball  at  night.  There  are  scores  and  scores  of 
gardens  in  every  part  of  the  city,  immense  enclosures,  with  a 
magnificent  orchestra  in  the  center,  in  which  the  Parisian 
dances  and  dances,  seemingly  never  tiring.  He  stops  now  and 
then  far  a  glass  of  wine,  or  the  non-exhilarating  syrup  with 
Avhich  he  lights  his  soul  and  ruins  his  stomach,  if  he  has  soul 
and  stomach,  but  he  seems  to  regret  even  this  loss  of  tiir^e. 
The  women  are  even  more  intoxicated  with, the  dance  than 
the  men.  A  man  may  stop  a  minute  and  be  easy,  but  the 
women  chafe  under  the  pauses  in  the  music,  and  are  impatient 
to  be  in  motion. 

There  are  gardens  for  the  very  poor,  where  the  admission 
is  a  sou,  or  such  a  matter,  for  the  men,  and  nothing  for  the 
women.  The  grounds  outside  are  rather  diminutive,  and  the 
ornamentation  somewhat  scanty,  but  the  dancing  floor  is  there 
and  the  orchestra  likewise,  and  the  blouses  and  calico  enjoy 
themselves  as  thoroughly  as  the  broadcloth  and  silk  that 
frequent  the  higher  priced  places. 

The  Jardin  Mabille,  near  the  Champs  Elys^es,  is  the  best 
known  in  Paris.  It  has  world-wide  celebrity,  and  no  for- 
eigner, no  matter  of  what  nation,  ever  leaves  Paris  without 
paying  it,  at  least,  one  visit.  It  is  a  wondrously  beautiful 
place,  gorgeously  illuminated  with  colored  lights,  and  full  to 
excess  of  trees,  shrubbery,  flowers  and  everything  else  that  is 
beautiful.  There  are  long  walks,  tortuous  labyrinths,  tables 
everywhere  under  trees,  and  it  is  filled  with  all  sorts  of  attrac- 
tions to  take  monev  from  the  visitor. 


THE    WICKED   MABILLE. 


305 


The  foreigner  goes  there  to  see  the  peculiar  dancing,  of 
which  he  or  she  has  heard  so  much.  The  whole  world 
knows  of  the  can-can,  and  the  whole  world  has  heard  of  the 
frightfully  immodest  exposure  of  person  visible  at  these  bac 


THE  MABILLE  AT  NIGHT. 

chanalian  orgies.  I  doubt  if  a  youth  ever  left  his  native 
home  in  America  that  his  mother  did  not  exact  a  promise 
from  him  that  he  would  not  visit  this  horrible  Mabille,  which 
promise  he  gave,  with,  "  Why,  mother,  do  you  suppose  I  would 
go  to  such  a  place  ?  Never ! ''  And  then  he  went  there  the 
first  time  he  was  in  Paris.     He  wasted  no  time. 

Inasmuch  as  the  Mabille  has,  ere  these  pages  will  be 
printed,  gone  the  way  of  the  world  (the  ground  has  been  sold, 
and  is  to  be  used  for  legitimate  business  purposes),  some  lit  lie 
account  of  it  is  proper,  even  though  it  is  like  embalming  a  fly 
in  precious  ointment. 

Mabille  was  established  in  1840  by  an  old  and  not  verv 

popular  dancing  master  named  Mabille,  by  virtue  of  his  age 

known  as  Pere  (Father)  Mabille.     He  purchased  or  leased  a 

piece  of  ground  on  the  AUee  des  Yeuves  and  the  Champs  Ely- 

20 


306 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


sees,  and  built  thereon  a  dance  house.     Originally  it  was  a 
dingy  structure  and  the  admission,  male  and  female,  was  only 

r    --.  ten  sous.  It  pros- 

i  i^/,'A  ^  .  ^  y^  pered,  for  it  was 
/•^^^  the  resort  of  the 
\  doubtful  classes 
\  I  who  always  pay. 
The  sons  of 
Pere  Mabille 
took  the  money 
the  old  gentle- 
man had  saved,, 
and  enlarged  it. 
They  substituted 
T"^^  gas  for  oil;  they 
A  MABILLE  DIVINITY  AND  THE  IDIOT  WHO  PAYS.  enlarged  and 
decorated  the  grounds ;  they  planted  shrubbery  and  introduced 
decorations ;  they  had  better  music,  and  made  it  the  resort  of 
the  better,  that  is,  richer  class  of  the  demi-monde,  the  wild 
Bohemians  and  that  enormous  class  in  Paris  who  live  from 
hour  to  hour  like  butterflies. 

Then  commenced  its  prosperity.  It  became  the  fashion 
among  all  classes.  The  rich  and  aristocratic  went  there  to  get 
the  dissipation  that  more  correct  amusements  would  not  afford 
them ;  the  foreigners  flocked  thither  in  droves,  for  the  Jardin 
Mabille  was  one  phase  of  Parisian  life  which  must  be  seen,  and 
every  girl  who  wanted  to  display  her  charms  and  graces  in  a 
way  to  excite  attention,  chose  Mabille  as  the  stage  upon  which 
to  make  her  essay. 

Enter  a  girl  from  the  Provinces  of  any  pecuHar  type  of 
beauty,  any  especial  beauty  of  face  and  figure,  w4th  the  wit 
and  boldness  for  the  venture.  She  danced  at  the  Mabille. 
Some  rich  or  notorious  debauchee  picked  her  up  at  once,  and 
made  her  the  fashion.  He  gave  her  carriages,  costumes,  pal- 
aces. Poets,  who  are  never  so  divine  as  when  a  responsible 
spendthrift  inspires  them,  sang  the  beauties  of  the  new  sensa- 
tion, and  all  Paris  talked  of  her.  Of  course  she  did  not  dance 
at  Mabille  after  she  had  made  her  conquest  —  Mabille  was  her 
opportunity. 


HAEKIET    BEECHEE    STOWE    AT    THE    MABILLE.  307 

They  lived  their  brief  existence,  they  were  attired  like  the 
butterfly  while  they  lived  but,  alas !  they  died  as  does  the 
butterfly. 

Originally  it  was  the  resort  of  the  middle  class  of  Parisians, 
who  worked  for  their  living,  clerks,  students,  and  that  class, 
and  grisettes,  and  the  women  who  skirted  the  edges  of  decency. 
The  dances  that  made  the  place  famous  were  born  of  the 
natural  extravagance  of  feeling  that  possesses  these  classes 
of  Frenchmen,  and  they  were  done  with  an  abandon  which 
their  paid  imitators  never  rivaled.  It  was  grotesque,  wild  and 
suggestive,  but  it  was  genuine.  If  Finette  flung  herself  into  a 
position  that  procured  applause,  Marie  would  excel  her  or 
die  in  the  attempt.  These  people,  forty  years  ago,  did  the 
grotesque  because  it  pleased  them  to  do  it  —  the  paid  dancers 
last  summer  were  mere  imitations,  and  bad  ones  at  that. 

The  proprietors  encouraged  this  kind  of  thing,  for  in  it  was 
their  profit.  And  they  engaged  other  women,  not  beautiful 
enough  to  become  sensations,  but  accommodating  enough  to 
stay  in  the  place  nights,  who  Avere  ready  to  endure  the  atten- 
tions of  any  man  who  had  francs  enough  in  his  pocket  to 
afford  it,  and  who,  for  their  society,  would  pay  ten  prices  for 
refreshments ;  they  getting  their  percentage  regularly  in  the 
morning. 

We  saw  them  by  the  hundred,  each  one  with  some  wealthy 
idiot  attached  to  her,  spending  his  money  supposing  that  he 
was  seeing  "  life."  He  was,  the  dirty  end  of  it,  and  he  was 
paying  roundly  for  it. 

Who  went  to  Mabille?  Ever3^body.  Thirty  years  ago, 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  visited  it,  and  described  it  as  follows : 

We  entered  by  an  avenue  of  poplars  and  other  trees  and  shrubs,  so 
illuminated  by  jets  of  gas  sprinkled  among  the  foliage  as  to  give  it  the 
effect  of  enchantment.  We  found  flower-beds  laid  out  in  every  conceiv- 
able form,  with  diminutive  jets  of  gas  so  distributed  as  to  imitate  flowers 
of  the  softest  tints  and  the  most  perfect  shape.  In  the  centre  there  is  a 
circle  of  pillars,  on  the  top  of  each  of  which  is  a  pot  of  flowers  with  gas 
jets,  and  between  them  an  arch  of  gas  jets.  In  the  midst  of  this  is  another 
circle,  forming  a  pavilion  for  musicians,  also  brilliantly  illuminated,  and 
containing  a  large  cotillion  band  of  the  most  finished  performers.  Around 
this  you  find  thousands  of  gentlemen  and  ladies  strolling,  singly,  in  pairs, 
or  in  groups.  While  the  musicians  repose  they  loiter,  sauntering  round,  or 
recline  on  seats.     But  now  a  lively  waltz  strikes  the  ear.     In  an  instant 


308  NASBT    IN    EXILE. 

twenty  or  thirty  couples  are  whirling  along,  floating  like  thistles  in  the 
wind,  around  the  central  pavilion.  Their  feet  scarce  touch  the  smooth- 
trodden  earth.  Round  and  round,  in  a  vortex  of  life,  beauty  and  brilliancy 
they  go,  a  whirlwind  of  delight,  eyes  sparkling,  cheeks  flushing,  and  gauzy 
draperies  floating  by,  while  the  crowds  outside  gather  in  a  ring  and  watch 
the  giddy  revel.  There  ai'e  countless  forms  of  symmetry  and  grace,  faces 
of  wondrous  beauty;  there,  too,  are  feats  of  agility  and  elasticity  quite 
aerial.  One  Uthe  and  active  dancer  grasped  his  fair  partner  by  the  waist ; 
she  was  dressed  in  red,  was  small,  elastic,  agile,  and  went  by  like  the  wind, 
and  in  the  course  of  a  very  few  seconds  he  would  give  her  a  whirl  and  a 
lift,  sending  her  spinning  through  the  air,  around  himself  as  an  axis,  full 
four  feet  from  the  ground.  It  is  a  scene  perfectly  unearthly,  or  rather 
perfectly  Parisian,  and  just  as  earthly  as  possible  ;  yet  a  scene  where 
earthliness  is  worked  up  into  a  style  of  sublimation  the  most  exquisite 
conceivable.  Aside  from  the  impropriety  inherent  in  the  very  nature  of 
waltzing,  there  was  not  a  word,  look  or  gesture  of  immorality  or  impro- 
priety The  dresses  were  all  decent,  and  if  there  was  a  vice  it  was  vice 
masked  under  the  guise  of  polite  propriety. 

It  was  different  in  the  Summer  of  1881.  The  dancers  were 
professionals ;  the  poor,  painted,  broken  down  danseuses  of  the 
minor  theaters,  and  the  male  dancers  were  professionals,  or 
semi-professionals,  who  came  every  night  and  went  through 
the  same  dreary  performance. 

E"ow  it  is  no  more.  It  existed  forty  years;  poets  have 
raved  over  its  habitues;  women  who  made  their  debut  on 
the  treacherous  surface  of  Parisian  life,  survive  only  in  their 
rhymes,  and  the  visitor  to  Paris  next  season  will  find  in  its 
place  imposing  structures  devoted  to  trade.  It  is  well.  The 
more  trade  and  the  less  JVTabille  the  better  for  the  world. 

But  the  American  youth  who  thought  to  have  a  baccha- 
nalian orgie  was  terribly  disappointed,  for  there  is  nothing 
bacchanalian  about  it.  All  he  saw  was  the  entire  dancing  plat- 
form occupied  by  waltzers,  who  waltzed  just  as  everybody  does 
in  good  society,  nothing  more  or  less.  Only  after  each  waltz 
comes  the  terribly  immoral  can-can,  and  the  eyes  of  the  young 
American,  or  English,  man  or  woman  glitter  with  expected 
enjoyment.  Alas !  they  do  not  get  it.  The  can-can  is  simply 
a  quadrille  danced  by  two  or  more  couples;  there  is  no 
prompter,  no  set  figure  as  I  could  see,  and  nothing  about  it 
singular  except  the  extravagant  poses  of  the  dancers.  They 
advance  and  retreat,  not  with  the  dignified  walk-through  that 
the  English  speaking  races  affect,  but  more  like  Comanche 


THE  PROFESSIONAL  DANCER  AT  THE  GARDENS.       809 

Indians.     The  male  being  who  dances,  always  with  his  hat  on, 

will  indulge  m  the  most  terrific  leaps  ;  he  will  twist  his  body 

into  every  possible  'shape  that  the  human  body  is  capable  of, 

and  will  do  more  grotesque  work  than  any  pantomimist  on 

any  stage.     He  twirls,  he  twists,  he  leaps,  he  dances  on  one  foot, 

and  then  on  the  other.     lie 

throws  his  body  into  the  air 

in  all   sorts  of    shapes ;   he 

squats,  he  lolls  his  tongue 

out  of  his  mouth,  he  makes 

play  with  his  hat,  he  puts  it 

back  on  his  head,  either  at 

the  back  or  over  his  eyes; 

he  springs  and   knocks   his 

feet   together;    all   without 

system  or  design,  but  always  professionals  in  a  quadrille  at  the  mabellb. 

in  time  with  the  music.     It  is  not  the  poetry,  it  is  the  delirium 

tremens,  of  motion.     It  is  such  a  dance  as  one  might  expect 

to  see  in  a  lunatic  asylum  containing  only  incurables. 

As  an  exhibition  of  absurd  posturing,  it  is  always  a  suc- 
cess ;  as  a  specimen  of  dancing,  as  we  understand  dancing,  it 
is  anything  else.  But  for  just  once  it  is  amusing.  As  between 
seeing  it  every  night  and  serving  an  equal  time  in  the  peniten- 
tiary, I  would  unhesitatingly  choose  the  penitentiary.  The 
human  body  is  a  thing  of  joy  when  naturally  carried,  but  you 
do  not  want  too  much  of  it  in  the  can-can. 

The  women  are,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  trifle  freer.  They 
wiU  kick  a  bystander's  hat  from  his  head,  and  in  some  of  the 
movements  there  is  a  very  free  exhibition  of  leg ;  that  is  to 
say,  if  the  leg  be  shapely.  I  noticed  that  the  ladies  whose 
general  contour  suggested  pipe-stemmy  support  were  as  modest 
about  their  displays  as  though  they  had  been  nuns,  and  I  fan- 
cied I  could  detect  a  shade  of  anguish  pass  over  their  faces  as 
they  observed  the  shapely  proportions  of  their  more  favored 
sisters. 

But  be  it  known  that  the  especial  dancers,  those  who  do 
these  extraordinary  leaps  and  contortions,  are  such  by  pro- 
fession, who  get  so  much  per  night,  the  same  as  at  any  other 
theater.     This  style  of  dancing  was  always  in  favor  in  Paris 


310  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

among  the  people,  and  the  proprietor  of  the  place,  finding  that 
it  attracted  strangers,  reduced  it  to  a  system.  He  hires  a 
certain  number  of  dancers,  the  same  as  he  does  his  orchestra, 
and  these  set  the  fashion  for  the  citizens  who  indulge  in  terp- 
sichorean  gymnastics. 

You  can  easily  detect  the  professionals.  They  come  on 
the  floor  at  regular  intervals  and  do  their  dreary  performance 
coolly  and  in  a  purely  professional  way,  without  any  more 
emotion  than  they  would  manifest  in  combing  their  hair. 

I  do  not  know  what  it  might  have  been  in  other  days,  but 
at  present  writing  it  is  about  the  tamest  place  I  know  of.  I 
overheard  this  conversation  between  two  young  ladies  one 
morning :  — 

"  Mary,  dear,  where  did  you  go  last  evening  ?  I  could  not 
find  you." 

"Ah,  don't  tell  anybody,  but   Mamie,  and  Charlie,  and  I, 
went  to  the  Mabille." 
"Is  it  good?" 

"Good!  It  is  nothing.  It  is  the  most  shochingly  moral 
place  I  ever  saw.      Why,  anyhody  can  go  there^ 

Mary  dear  had  expected  to  be  shocked,  but  she  was  not. 

Possibly  the  world 
never  saw  so  much  of 
her  lower  limbs  as  it 
did  of  the  ladies 
dancing  at  the  Ma- 
bille, but  I  will  ven- 
ture to  say  that  she, 

A  MALE  DANCER  AT  JARDIN  BULLIER.  hcrSClf,      UUdcr      thc 

eyes  of  her  prudish 
mamma  at  home,  had  more  than  made  that  up  by  display  from 
the  neck  downward,  a  great  man}^  times. 

It  is  not  altogether  pleasant  for  young  Americans  of  the 
gentler  sex  to  visit  Mabille,  no  matter  how  good  their  escort. 
There  are  too  many  draw-backs  to  the  pleasure,  and  it  is  being 
continually  marred.  I  noticed  one  party,  a  young  lady  and 
gentleman  who  were  perpetually  troubled;  they  would  be 
observing  something  that  interested  them,  when  very  suddenly 
the  girl  would  exclaim,  "Charley,  this  way!  quick!     There 


GARDENS    OTHER    THAN   MABILLE. 


311 


<;omes  Sadie  Mercer,  and  I  would  not  have  her  see  me  here 
for  anything.     Sammy  Burton  is  with  her!" 

The}^  rose  and  darted  down  a  path-way,  only  to  turn 
and  meet  another 
party  whom  they 
knew,  and  so  on. 
The  most  of  the  eve- 
ning AY  as'  spent  in 
vain  endeavors  to 
keep  their  acquaint- 
ances from  knowing 
they  were  there,  and 
their  friends  were 
similarly    employed. 

There  was  no  occa- 
sion  for  all  this 
effort.  Everybody 
goes  to  the  Mabille, 
once  at  least,  because 
everybody  must.  But 
it  isn't  worth  the 
time,  however.  ^ 

At    the    Jar  din    S^- 

Bullier^  in  the  Latin  -^ZZI ._ 

quarter,  there  is  ^^^^^& 
wilder  dancing  and  ^^^^^^=^ 
more  freedom  than 
the  Mabille.  It  is 
the  resort  of  the 
students  and  the  the  grisette  who  prefers  the  jardin  bullier. 
grisettes  proper,  and  the  spectacle  is  genuine.  There  are  no 
professionals  there,  and  the  dancing  is  done  by  those  who  have 
paid  for  it,  and  do  it  for  the  pleasure  they  find  in  it.  The 
high-kicking  girl  kicks  as  a  colt  does,  because  she  enjoys  it, 
and  not  in  the  languid  way  of  the  paid  dancers.  The 
brigandish  youth  who  can  contort  the  wildest  is  cheered 
on  to  renewed  exertions,  and  the  grisette  who  can  kick  the 
highest  or  do  the  most  grotesque  things  is  applauded  to 
the  echo.     And  when  in  these  extravaganzas  one  slips  upon 


312  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

the  waxed  floor,  and  falls,  what  a  shout  goes  up  from  the 
excited  spectators !  She  cares  nothing  for  it — slips  are  common 
on  these  floors.  She  laughs  more  heartily  than  thQ  rest,  and 
rises  and  resumes  her  place. 

The  French  quadrille  is  like  American  hash  —  a  mystery. 
There  is  no  earthly  system  in  it.  Like  volunteer  soldiers,  each 
one  operates  upon  his  own  hook.  They  forward  and  back  with 
the  most  sublime  disregard  of  everybody  else;  they  combine 
in  the  one  dance  the  American  quadrille,  the  German  and 
French  waltz,  the  Spanish  fandango,  the  galop,  the  polka,  and 
every  other  dance  known  to  ancient  and  modern  times.  The 
only  reason  that  they  do  not  incorporate  other  dances  into 
their  alleged  quadrille,  is  because  they  do  not  know  any  more. 
They  put  in  all  they  have  heard  of,  and  one  would  be  unreason- 
able to  expect  more  of  them. 

But  they  have  a  good  time,  and,  as  the  French  world  goes, 
an  innocent  one.  There  is  perhaps  more  freedom  in  gesture 
than  would  be  considered  proper  in  England  or  America,  but 
there  is  no  drunkenness,  and  the  utmost  decorum  is  observed. 
Such  a  thing  would  be  impossible  with  the  fighting  whisky  of 
America,  or  face-bruising  brandy  of  England.  Get  together 
a  thousand  of  the  lower  classes  in  either  of  those  excessively 
moral  countries,  and  the  affair  would  break  up  in  a  row  in  an 
hour.  There  would  be  knock-downs  and  dragging-outs  with- 
out number ;  there  would  be  bruised  heads  and  mashed  faces, 
and  the  broken  nose  brigade  would  be  largely  recruited. 

The  Frenchman  does  not  get  drunk.  He  drinks  his  light 
wine  to  the  point  of  exhileration,  and  that  is  all.  The  student 
of  art,  or  law,  or  medicine,  who  finds  his  enjoyment  at  these 
places,  keeps  as  sober  as  a  judge,  and  a  great  deal  more  sober 
than  a  great  many  judges  in  America  I  wot  of.  He  looks  to 
be  capable  of  any  enormity,  but  he  is  the  most  inoffensive 
being  on  earth.  Indulging  in  the  wildest  vagaries  —  dressed 
in  the  most  rakish  and  brigandish  costume,  he  is  scrupulously 
polite  and  intensely  considerate.  He  could  not  be  more  so 
were  the  grisettes  his  sisters,  and  the  spectators  his  father, 
mother  and  aunts. 

One  evening  at  the  Jardin  Bullier  one  young  fellow,  utterly 
and  entirely  brainless,  evidently  the  fop  of  his  quarter,  appeared 


AT   THE   JAEDIN   BULLIER.  313 

dressed,  to  his  taste,  gorgeously.  He  wore  a  pearl  gray  suit ; 
the  bottoms  of  his  trowsers  were  so  absurdly  wide  that  they 
covered  his  boot ;  his  coat  sleeves  were  so  wide  that  they  made 
a  fair  match  for  his  trowsers ;  his  cuffs  (with  a  showy  sham 
button)  came  down  to  his  knuckles;  his  shirt  collar  was  cut 
half  way  down  his  breast,  and  his  hat  was  the  most  painful  in 
shine  that  I  had  ever  seen.  He  was,  in  short,  gotten  up  regard- 
less of  expense,  and  entirely  for  effect. 

This  young  fellow^  off ered  some  slight  indignity  to  a  girl 
with  whom  he  was  dancing.  Yery  promptly  she  cried  out, 
and  in  an  instant  the  dancing  was  suspended.  "  Put  him  out ! " 
cried  those  near  them,  who  comprehended  the  matter.  "  Put 
him  out!  Put  him  out!"  was  echoed  from  one  side  to  the 
other  of  the  vast  hall,  and  a  rush  of  excited  Frenchmen  was 
made  toward  that  part  of  the  room.  The  fellow  attempted 
some  sort  of  an  explanation,  but  it  was  of  no  avail.  Out  he 
went,  guilty  or  not.  In  that  place  everybody  must  be  like 
Caesar's  wife  —  above  suspicion.  Out  he  went,  and  the  dancing 
was  resumed  with  redoubled  fury.  A  duty  discharged,  they 
might  abandon  themselves  to  pleasure  with  increased  zest. 
All  the  difference  was  those  who  had  yelled  "  Put  him  out " 
the  loudest,  kicked  a  trifle  higher  than  before,  and  went  crab- 
like sideAvays  with  more  extraordinary  contortions. 

Tibbitts  and  the  Professor  had  an  awkward  experience  the 
first  night  they  were  in  Paris.  The  Professor  had  received  a 
letter  from  Tibbitts'  father  requesting  him  to  look  after  the 
young  man,  and  see  that  he  attended  to  legitimate  matters 
and  be  not  carried  away  with  the  frivolities  of  Parisian  life, 
which  destroy  so  many  inexperienced  youth.  In  fact,  he  gave 
the  Professor  authority  in  the  matter,  and  made  him  a  sort  of 
a  guardian  over  him. 

After  dinner  the  Professor  showed  Tibbitts  the  letter  and 
assumed  control  at  once. 

"  To-night,  Lemuel,  I  have  to  meet  the  American  delegates 
to  the  International  Science  Congress,  and  I  cannot  be  with 
you.  But  I  must  exact  a  promise  from  you  that  you  will  not 
go  to  any  of  those  public  balls,  such  as  the  Mabille.  I  have 
no  objection  to  your  visiting  the  Opera,  for  I  understand  the 
building  itself  is  a  study,  and  it  is  perhaps  well  that  you  should 


314 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


hear  and  enjoy  the  music  of  the  masters.     This  is  as  far  as  I 
can  permit  you  to  go.     You  promise?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Tibbitts,  "though  it  is  not  necessary. 
Without  a  promise  I  should  not  go  to  those  wicked  places." 


THE  MEETING  OF  TIBBITTS  AND  THE   PROFESSOR. 

Scene  the  second :  The  Jardin  Mabille  —  music,  lights,  gaily 
dressed  women,  little  tables,  wine,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

Tibbitts  dancing  furiously  with  a  lady  in  silken  attire,  and 
striving  in  vain  to  do  the  high,  grotesque  dancing  of  the 
Parisian.  The  music  ceases  and  Tibbitts  leads  his  partner  to 
a  table.  In  his  excitement  he  does  not  at  once  notice  that  at 
the  table  exactly  in  front  of  him  is  seated  the  Professor,  who, 
inasmuch  as  he  was  holding  an  interesting  conversation  with  a 
lady  who  spoke  English  somewhat,  did  not  notice  Tibbitts  till 
their  eyes  met. 

Tibbitts  is  a  young  man  of  great  presence  of  mind.     He 


TIBBITTS    AND    THE    PKOFESSOE.  315 

was  equal  to  this  emergency.  The  Professor  regarded  him  a 
moment,  and  said :  —  * 

^'  Lemuel ! " 

Lemuel  stared  at  him  and  replied :  — 

"  Are  you  addressing  me,  sir  ? " 

"  Certainly  I  am." 

"  You  are  mistaken  in  the  person,  sir.  I  do  not  know  you. 
M}^  name  is  not  Lemuel,  it  is  Smith.  Smith,  of  Hartford, 
Connecticut.  May  I  ask  your  name,  and  why  you  address 
me,  a  perfect  stranger?  Do  I  resemble  any  friend  of  yours? 
Am.  I  like  any  grandson  you  have?  If  so,  could  you,  for  the 
sake  of  the  resemblance,  lend  me  a  hundred  francs  ? " 

"Lemuel,  this  is  trifling.     What  are  you  doing  here?" 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  Lemuel  that  he  had  the  Professor 
in  as  close  a  corner  as  the  Professor  had  him,  and  he  replied : — 

"Professor,  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"  Lemuel,  I  was  fearful  that  you  would  break  your  promise 
to  me,  and  I  came  here  to  be  sure  that  you  were  not  here." 

"Professor,  I  Avas  fearful  that  you  might  accidentally  stray 
hither  after  the  meeting  of  the  Social  Science  sharps  was  over, 
and  I  came  here  to  see  that  no  harm  came  to  you." 

"  Lemuel,  we  are,  I  perceive,  both  innocent  of  any  harmful 
intention,  but  as  our  action  might  be  misconstrued  at  home,  it 
would  be  as  well  if  no  mention  is  made  of  this  unfortunate 
matter." 

Lemuel  coughed  slightly  and  appeared  wrapped  in  thought 
a  moment.     Finally  he  spoke :  — 

"  I  do  not  know  but  that  I  am  permitting  my  good  nature 
to  get  the  better  of  my  duty,  but  I  will  not  make  mention  of 
your  escapade.  But  I  wish  it  distinctly  understood  that  this 
must  not  be  repeated,  and  that  you  go  home  at  once.  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  It  is  no  place  for  you. 
You,  a  teacher,  an  instructor  of  youth,  a  man  of  sixty,  one 
whose  duty  it  is  to  form  the  morals  of  American  youth,  one 
to  whose  care  is  entrusted  inexperienced  youth,  to  be  seen  in 
such  a  place  and  in  such  a  company.  It  is  too  much,  and 
would  not  sound  well  in  the  West.  For  shame.  As  I  said, 
it  must  not  be  repeated.  Go.  I  now  se^  why  you  were  so 
willing  that  I  should  go  to  the  Opera,  and  why  you  exacted  of 


316 


NASBY   IN    EXILE. 


me  a  promise  that  I  should  not  come  here.  You  intended  to 
come  here  by  yourself,  and  did  not  want  me  to  be  a  witness  to 
your  shame.     But  go !     I  forgive  you !     I  forgive  you." 

The  Professor  went,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  safely  away, 
Lemuel  took  the  seat  he  had  vacated,  and  was  presently  engaged 
in  a  very  pleasant  conversation  with  the  lady  who  spoke  English 
somewhat. 

The  Professor's  guardianship  will  not  be  of  much  use  to  the 
pleasure-seeking  youth.     Professors  have  curiosity,  which  they 

generally  gratify,  in  one 
way  or  another.  Poor 
humanity ! 

The  caf6  is  the  French- 
man's especial  resort,  how- 
ever. They  are  every- 
where and  of  all  classes, 
and  from  six  to  twelve  at 
night  are  full .  The  regular 
Frenchman  sees  his  friends 
here;  business  is  trans- 
acted here;  the  political 
questions  of  the  day  are 
discussed,  and  here  nations 
are  made  and  unmade.  In 
foul  weather  the  inside  is 
THE  CAFE  SWELL.  crowdcd ;  in  fair,  the  little 

tables  on  the  sidewalk  under  the  beautiful  trees  are  all  occu- 
pied. And  these  little  tables  outside  afford  never-failing  pleas- 
ure, to  any  one,  native  or  foreign.  There  is  a  constant  ebb 
and  flow  of  humanity  along  the  streets ;  there  the  costumes  of 
all  nations  and  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  world  are 
reproduced  for  your  benefit.  Americans,  English,  Germans, 
Turks,  Tunisians,  West  Indians,  Carribeans,  Russians,  and 
Polanders.  If  there  is  a  nation  on  earth  that  is  not  repre- 
sented in  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens  or  any  of  the  principal 
streets,  any  fine  night,  I  do  not  know  of  it. 

And  here  sits  the  Parisian,  hour  after  hour,  watching  this 
human  kaleidoscope,  and  thanking  heaven  that  he  is  a  French- 
man, and  above  all  a  Parisian. 


THE    RELIGIOUS    AFRICAN.  317 

The  electric  lights  shine  through  the  foliage  of  the  trees, 
making  figures  of  rare  beauty  upon  the  faultless  sidewalks ; 
there  is  the  constant  procession  of  vehicles  more  beautiful 
under  this  Hght  than  at  noonday;  opposite  him  are  the 
brilliantly  lighted  shops  with  their  wealth  of  beauty  in  the 
Avindows,  and  all  around  him  is  bustle,  stir,  and  life.  There  is 
nothing  dull  or  stagnant  on  the  streets  of  Paris  at  night.  The 
Parisian  will  not  have  it  that  way.  The  glitter  may  be  very 
thin,  but  he  will  have  the  glitter.     He  lives  upon  it. 

Paris  by  day  is  beautiful  —  Paris  by  night  is  superb. 

The  faro  bankeress  is  getting  ready  to  go  home.  She  has 
well  nigh  done  Europe,  which  is  to  say,  she  has  explored  every 
shop  in  Paris  and  London.  She  may  go  through  Switzerland 
and  Germany  with  us,  but  we  hope  not.  We  are  praying  that 
she  will  go  home  from  Paris,  and  she  can't  start  any  too  quick. 
That  she  is  making  preparations  for  a  start,  she  confesses.  She 
is  afraid  of  sea  voyages  ;  she  has  a  mortal  dread  of  water ; 
she  remarks  that  she  always  lives  very  correctly  a  week  or 
so  before  she  sails.  She  says  her  prayers  regularly,  attends 
church  every  service,  and  does  nothing  wrong  that  she  knows 
of.  She  will  not  go  to  an  Opera  on  Simday ;  she  declined  to  go 
to  the  Mabille  at  all ;  nor  will  she  even  play  cards  any  day. 
This  for  ten  days  before  sailing. 

"  And  after  you  land  safely  in  ^ew  York  ? " 

"  O,  I  ain't  on  the  water  then,  and  it  don't  differ  so  much." 

Which  is  very  like  a  negro  I  once  knew  in  Bucyrus,  Ohio. 
He  was  very  religious,  of  the  African  kind  of  religion,  and 
was  the  loudest  and  most  muscular  man  at  a  prayer  meeting 
for  many  a  mile  around.  A  gentleman  who  had  a  piece  of 
work  to  do  that  was  not  entirely  legal  offered  Sam  two 
dollars  to  do  it  for  him. 

"  Massa  Perkins,  dis  ting  doesn't  adzackly  squar  wid  my 
perfeshn,  an'  it's  decidedly  wicked.  It's  suthin'  a  perfessin' 
Christian  shouldn't  do,  nohow.  But  two  dollahs  is  a  mi'ty 
heap  ob  money  foh  de  ole  man,  and  ain't  picked  up  ebery  day. 
I'll  chance  it.  Bress  de  Lawd !  It's  a  sin,  but  I  can  'pent. 
Bress  de  Lawd,  I  can  'pent. 

"  While  de  lamp  holds  out  to  bun, 
De  vilest  siiinah  luaj'  retun." 


318 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


"  Eress  de  Lawd  fob  de  deff-bed  'pentance.  Dat  is  de  great 
t'ing.     Yoo  can  'pent  on  a  dying  bed." 

"  But,  Sam,"  said  Perkins,  "  I  don't  want  you  to  do  any- 
thing that  grinds  against  your  conscience.  A  death  bed 
repentance  is  all  very  well,  but  suppose  you  die  too  suddenly 
to  repent  ? " 

"  It's  a  risk,  Massa  Perkins,  but  I'll  chance  it.     Two  dol 
lahs  is  a  great  deal  ob  money  fob  de  ole  man.     It's  a  mi'ty 
sudden  deff  dat'U  ketch  me  onpropared.     And  come  to  t'ink 
ob  it,  to  be  ontirely  safe,  I'll  'pent  —  jist  ez  soon  ez  I  git  de 
two  doUahs." 

Our  faro  bankeress  had  the  same  kind  of  religion.  Land 
her  safe  in  New  York,  and  she  was  easy  as  to  her  sins.  It  was 
only  against  the  dangers  of  navigation  that  she  wanted  to  be 
insured. 


CATHEDRAL    AT    BEAUVAIS. 


319 


BEAUVAIS   CATHEDRAL. 


CHAPTEK  XXI. 


THE    LOrVRE. 


Paris,  the  magnificent,  has  thousands  of  structures  that  are 
worth  a  voyage  across  the  Atlantic  to  see,  but  there  is  in  all 
that  wonderful  city  no  one  ttiat  is  so  utterly  bewildering  in  its 
magnificence  as  the  massive  pile,  the  Louvre,  one  of  the  largest 
as  well  as  grandest  places  in  the  world.  Its  long  galleries  and 
beautiful  salons,  with  hundreds  of  winds  and  turns,  form  a 
labyrinth  in  which,  without  a  guide,  one  may  almost  be  lost- 
It  required  a  great  deal  of  time  to  build  the  Louvre,  as  its 
completion  was  being  continually  retarded.  But  through  all 
the  years  and  the  changes  in  the  styles  of  architecture,  a  gen- 
eral oneness  of  plan  was  maintained,  and  the  noble  structure, 
though  constructed  piece-meal,  is  consistent  and  symmetrical. 
It  is  admirably  located  near  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  and 
with  the  Tuileries,  occupies  forty  acres  of  ground.  It  is  of  a 
quadrilateral  form,  enclosing  an  immense  square.  Approach- 
ing it  from  the  Place  du  Royale,  its  imposing  front  challenges 
attention  and  then  invites  study.  Admiration  is  excited  by 
the  solidity,  as  well  as  symmetry  of  the  pile,  and  this  is 
increased  by  its  elaborate  ornamentation. 

Such  buildings  are  impossible  in  this  day  and  age  of  the 
world.  Private  means  are  not  sufficient.  An  American  rail- 
road magnate  might  do  something  in  this  direction,  but  when 
the  idea  of  expending  even  a  few  paltry  millions  upon  a  resi- 
dence for  himself  comes  to  him,  he  puts  it  off  till  after  he  has 
attempted  a  corner  in  some  stock  or  another,  which  generally 
makes  a  lame  duck  of  him,  and  he  is  glad  to  retire  to  the  hum- 
ble mansion  which  he  always  has  —  in  his  wife's  name. 

Modern  governments  cannot  do  it,  for  they  haven't  the 
facilities  of  the  ancient  Kings  for  this  kind  of  work.     All  that 

(320) 


THE    STRUGGLE    FOE   THE    LEADERSHIP. 


321 


the  old  French  Kings  had  to  do  when  thev  wanted  a  palace  of 
this  kind  was  to  call  upon  the  workmen  of  the  nation,  with 
spears,  and  set  them  about  it,  and  feed  them  upon  black 
bread  and  verj  sour  and  cheap  wine,  and  take  possession  of 
the  stone  quarries  and  the  lumber  mills,  and  put  it  up.  The 
painters  and  sculptors  and  the  makers  of  the  furnishings  they 
were  compelled  to  pay,  but  that  was  nothing.  An  extra  tax 
on  everything  the  people  lived  upon  was  levied  and  collected 
with  great  vigor  and  much  certainty,  and  so  without  any 
bother  or  worry  the  King  had  a  new  palace,  with  fountains, 
and  trees,  and  flowers,  and  pictures,  and  statuary,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thmg,  in  the  most  gorgeous  style.  A  French  King,  a 
few  hundred  years  ago,  had  what  an  American  would  not 
unjustly  style  a  soft  thing  of  it.  It  was  a  good  situation  to 
hold,  and  I  don't  wonder  that  Nobles  fought  to  be  Kings,  and 
Kings  struggled  to  be  Emperors.     Everybody  wants  power. 

And  this  reminds  me  of  a  little  incident  that  happened  in 
my  own  beloved  America,  illustrative  of  this  principle.  In 
a  certain  county  in  the  good  State  of  Ohio  was,  and  is,  a 
township  called  Cranberry,  inhabited  largely  by  Germans  and 
those  of  German  descent.  These  Germans,  without  excep- 
tion, adhered  to  one  political  party,  and  all  voted  one  way, 
and  their  devotion  to  their  party  was  such  that  it  was  consid- 
ered an  unpardonable  sin  to  "  scratch  "  a  ticket,  or  in  any  way 
run  counter  to  the  action  of  their  convention.  In  politics 
they  were  as  regular  as  a  horse  in  a  bark-mill. 

One  man,  always  the  stoutest  and  best  one  physically,  of 
the  party,  stood  at  the  polls,  and  every  one  of  his  organiza- 
tion as  he  came  to  vote  was  expected  to  show  his  ticket  to  this 
recognized  King,  that  it  might  be  made  certain  that  no  one 
scratched  or  acted  unorthodox.  This  man  was  by  right 
entitled  to  a  county  office,  and  held  one  as  long  as  he  could 
maintain  his  position  at  home. 

One  Peter  Feltzer  had  been  King  of  Cranberry  for  a 
great  many  years,  and  by  virtue  of  his  position  had  been 
successively  Commissioner,  Treasurer,  Representative,  and,  in 
fact,  had  gone  up  and  down  the  ladder  of  earthly  glory  a 
great  many  times,  and  was  waxing  as  full  of  glory  and  honors 
as  he  was  of  years. 
21 


822 


NASBY    IX    EXILE. 


There  was  a  young  man  named  Meyer,  who  had  an  idea 
that  he  wanted  to  hold  a  county  office,  and  live  at  the  countv 
seat,  and  spend  his  time  in  drinldng  beer,  at  good  pay,  and  he 
knew  there  was  but  one  road  to  this  summit  of  human  bliss, 
and  that  was  over  Feltzer's  body.     So  one  election  day  he 


THE  STRUGGLE  FOR  THE  KINGSHIP. 

presented  himself  at  the  polls,  and  ignoring  Feltzer,  offered  a 
folded  ballot. 

^'  Mike,  show  me  dot  dicket ! ''  exclaimed  Feltzer. 

''  Yoo  shust  go  mit  hell ! "  was  Meyer's  answer. 

Feltzer  divined  the  meaning  of  this  revolt  at  once.  He 
knew  that  this  was  a  challenge  to  mortal  combat,  and  that 
the  prize  of  the  victor  was  the  crown.  Meyer  was  a  splendid 
young  man,  built   like  a  bull,  and  only  thirty.     Feltzer  had 


AET    IN    THE    LOUVBE.  323 

been,  in  his  day,  more  than  a  match  for  him ;  but  alas,  he  was 
sixty,  and  had  been  enervated  by  the  soft  allurements  of 
official  position.  However,  he  determined  not  to  die  without 
a  struggle,  and  so  laying  off  their  coats,  at  it  they  went. 
Meyer  had  no  easy  contract.  Feltzer  was  fighting  for  life, 
and  the  contest  was  long  and  severe.  Youth  finally  triumphed, 
and  Feltzer,  after  half  an  hour  of  rolhng  in  the  mud,  admitted 
defeat.  Meyer  sprang  gaily  to  his  feet,  and  seizing  Feltzer's 
hickory  club  exclaimed  to  the  bystanders,  "  Now,  yoo  men  vat 
vants  to  vote  will  shust  show  me  your  dickets ! " 

They  accepted  their  new  ruler  the  same  as  the  French  do, 
and  he  was  elected  to  an  office  the  ensuing  Fall,  and  ever  since, 
for  aught  I  know.  He  held  it,  anyhow,  till  some  younger  man 
deposed  him. 

This  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  Louvre,  except  as  showing 
that  humanity  is  the  same  everywhere.  If  any  other  moral 
can  be  got  out  of  it  I  have  no  objection. 

All  over  the  Louvre  are  statues  of  men  who  are  famous  in 
French  history  —  those  who  have  achieved  fame  in  art,  science, 
literature  or  war.  They  are  here,  and  in  stone  that  will  last 
for  ages ;  longer,  probably,  than  the  memory  of  the  acts  that 
placed  them  there. 

On  the  north  side  of  the  Place  Napoleon  there  is  a  won- 
derful Corinthian  colonnade,  over  the  columns  of  which  are 
heroic  statues  of  eighty-six  celebrated  men,  and  on  the  balus- 
trade are  sixty-five  allegorical  groups,  wonderful  in  design  and 
execution,  and  so,  all  the  way  around  the  enormous  building, 
story  after  story  is  burdened  with  works  of  art.  Wondrous 
works,  artistically  bestowed,  always  profuse,  but  never  over- 
done. Every  column,  every  window-cap,  even  the  ledges  just 
under  the  projection  of  the  roof,  bear  the  impress  of  genius. 
There  are  statues,  medallions,  large  groups  illustrating  import- 
ant events  in  the  history  of  France,  exquisitely  carved  by 
master  hands,  on  all  four  sides  of  the  exterior,  all  symmetrical 
in  design  and  faultless  in  proportion. 

The  interior  is  in  keeping  with  the  exterior.  The  noble 
pile  is  a  fit  repository  for  what  it  contains.  The  one  hundred 
and  forty  salons  into  which  the  Louvre  is  divided  are  marvels 
of  artistic  beauty.     Intended  for  the  abode  of  royalty,  it  was 


324  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

royally  constructed.  The  kindly  builders  did  not  spare  the 
sweat  or  blood  of  their  subjects.  They  set  out  to  have  a  royal 
palaise,  and  they  did  not  allow  the  miseries  of  a  few  millions 
of  their  people  to  stand  in  the  way  of  its  achievement. 

The  most  beautiful  of  them  all  is  the  Galerie  d'ApoUon, 
the  ornamentation  of  which,  in  beauty  of  desio^n  and  skill 
in  execution,  is  marvelous.  It  is  of  itself  a  study.  The 
vaulted  ceiling  is  filled  with  paintings  by  Le  Brun,  one  of  the 
greatest  of  the  French  masters.  The  cornices  and  corners 
are  ornamented  with  beautiful  designs  in  gilt,  elaborately 
wrought,  and  on  the  walls  are  portraits  of  French  artists  in 
gobelin  tapestry,  making  it  one  of  the  finest  collections  of  this 
kind  of  work  extant.  There  is  a  perfection  in  the  drawing 
that  is  remarkable,  and  the  coloring  is  exquisite,  the  various 
shades  and  tints  blending  with  a  nicety  that  makes  one  almost 
feel  that  they  were  done  by  artists  with  brush  and  paint. 

Tapestry,  as  a  rule,  has  small  degree  of  expression  in  face 
and  feature,  but  in  these  every  feature  is  faithfully  reproduced, 
and  the  whole  figure  is  strikingly  life-like. 

This  room  has  a  history.  It  was  originally  built  by  Henry 
lY.,  and  was  burned  in  1661.  During  the  reign  of  Louis 
XIY.  the  work  of  reconstruction  was  begun,  Le  Brun  furnish- 
ing the  designs.  His  death  in  1690  put  a  stop  to  the  work, 
and  for  a  century  and  a  half  it  stood  in  an  unfinished  condi- 
tion. In  1848  work  was  resumed,  and  in  three  years  it  was 
finished  as  it  now  stands. 

There  are  scores  of  other  rooms  of  quite  as  much  interest. 
In  all,  the  frescoes  and  wall  paintings  are  incomparable,  and 
though  the  galleries  aggregate  over  a  mile  and  a  half  in  length, 
in  no  place  is  there  a  barren  spot.  The  great  masters,  through 
all  these  ages,  gave  to  it  their  best  years  and  their  best  work, 
and  so  long  as  the  Louvre  remains  these  rooms  will  be  monu- 
ments of  their  genius. 

The  Louvre  is  inseparable  from  the  history  of  France.  In 
all  the  upheavals,  the  tearings  down  and  overturnings,  it  has 
been  a  central  figure.  It  was  from  the  Louvre  on  that  dread- 
ful night  in  August,  1672,  that  Charles  IX.  fired  the  shot  that 
was  the  signal  for  the  horrible  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew, 
which  ended  in  the  indiscriminate  slaughter  of  the  Huguenots, 


THE    REASON    FOR   THE    COMMUNE.  325 

and  from  that  time  on  to  the  present  it  has  been  the  stage  on 
which  tragedies  have  been  enacted.  It  figured  in  the  terrible 
days  of  the  Commune,  in  1871,  and  but  for  an  almost  Provi- 
dential interference,  would  have  passed  into  history  as  a 
memory. 

The  Louvre  has  always  been  the  especial  object  of  the 
hatred  of  the  Parisian  mob,  and  no  wonder.  Every  stone  laid 
was  so  much  bread  taken  from  the  mouths  of  French  working- 
men  ;  every  stroke  of  a  chisel,  every  inch  of  the  wonderful  pile, 
was  a  robbery  of  himself  of  whatever  it  cost.  It  was  the  habi- 
tation of  a  nobility,  supported  in  luxury  at  the  expense  of  the 
French  people. 

It  is  aU  well  enough  to  talk  of  reason,  but  there  is  no 
reason  in  a  revolution.  The  Parisian  whose  wife  and  family 
were  Uving  in  garrets  and  cellars,  eating  black  bread  and 
drinking  sour  wine,  could  not  be  reasoned  with  when  he  caught 
glimpses  of  the  luxurious  salons  in  which  the  few  took  their 
pleasure.  He  could  not  be  expected  to  have  much  reason  when 
he  got  a  smell  of  the  delicacies  of  the  royal  table,  and  thought 
of  the  scant  fare  on  which  he  was  compelled  to  subsist.  His 
garret  and  thin  pallet  did  not  contrast  well  with  the  gorgeous 
apartments  and  silken  couches  of  his  royal  masters,  nor  did  the 
offal  with  which  he  was  fed  compare  pleasantly  with  the  wild 
profusion  of  dainties  which  they  rioted  upon. 

It  was  nightingale  tongues  versus  offal  —  it  was  poverty  in 
the  extreme  versus  prodigal  waste. 

A  nd  then  the  arrogance  of  these  tyrants !  They  held  the 
commoners  as  an  inferior  race,  as  another  creation,  much  as 
the  Southern  planter  used  to  hold  his  slaves. 

One  of  the  ancient  nobility  replied  to  a  demand  from  the 
workingmen  for  better  food :  "  The  animals !  Let  them  eat 
grass ! "  It  is  no  wonder,  a  few  months  later,  when  this  sillien 
lord  was  beheaded,  that  the  mob  carried  his  head  upon  a  pike 
with  a  tuft  of  grass  in  his  set  jaws. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  when  the  mob,  starved  and  frozen  to 
a  point  where  death  was  preferable  to  hfe,  wrested  the  power 
from  the  nobility  and  controlled  Paris,  that  it  should  bhndly 
destroy  everything  that  symbolized  royalty,  everything  that 
smacked  of  class  rule. 


326 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


True,  the  Commune  should  not  have  destroyed  fountains, 
and  statuary,  and  paintings,  but  it  must  be  said  that  they  did 
not  destroy  these  priceless  works  for  the  mere  sake  of  destroy- 
ing them.  The  statues  symbolized  royalty.  It  was  not  a  Yenus 
that  was  the  object  of   their   hatred  —  the  Yenus  was  their 

wrong,  in 
stone. 

There  i  s 
much  to  be 
said  about 
these  Paris- 
ian mobs, 
and  who- 
ever knows 
of  the  suf- 
,f  erings  of 
the  people, 
even  under 
the  mildest 
form  of  roy- 
alty, cannot 
wholly  con- 
demn. The 
many  labor- 
ing for  the 
f  e  w;  the 
man  with 
a  hungry 
wife  and 
pallid  chil- 
dren does 
not    care 

much  for  the  art  that  his  oppressors  delight  in.  He  looks  at 
immortal  work  through  eyes  dimmed  with  suffering  and  half 
blinded  with  tears,  and  it  is  not  singular  that  in  his  rage  he 
strikes  blindly. 

At  this  time  Napoleon  had  fought  an  unprovoked  war,  and 
to  perpetuate  his  dynasty  had  dragged  from  their  wretched 
homes  thousands  of  the  youth  of  France,  and  had  been  driven 


■■  ■  1 

-— — 

OF  THE   COMMUNE. 


THE   COMMUNE.  327 

back  by  the  Prussians  in  utter  and  entire  humiliation.  Had 
he  crushed  Prussia,  the  glory  of  the  achievement  would  have 
atoned  in  some  degree  for  its  cost ;  but  to  bear  the  burden  of 
defeat  in  shame  and  humiliation  was  too  much,  and  though  a 
Kepublic  followed,  the  Commune  was  not  satisfied.  It  would 
not  trust  the  Eepublic.  It  looked  upon  the  Republic  as  a 
partial  change  —  it  wanted  a  radical  one ;  and,  ^vith  the 
childishness  peculiar  to  the  French,  they  commenced  the 
work  of  reconstruction  by  destroying  what  was  their  own, 
and  which  would  delight  them  as  much  under  the  Eepublic 
of.  the  future  as  it  had  their  oppressors  in  the  Monarchies 
of  the  past. 

English,  American  or  German  people  would  have  done 
differently.  If  these  wonderful  works  reminded  them  too 
much  of  their  sufferings  to  be  pleasant,  they  would  have  been 
sold  to  other  nations,  and  the  proceeds  devoted  to  the  payment 
of  the  national  debt. 

It  is  well  for  the  world  that  so  much  of  the  Louvre  was 
preserved,  for  there  are  other  nations  than  France  that  have 
an  interest  in  it.  Art  has  no  nationality  —  it  is  the  property 
of  the  world. 

The  Communists  ruined  many  of  the  finest  works  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  building,  but  fortunately  their  ravages  were 
confined  to  a  small  space.  More  important  matters  occupied 
their  attention,  and  the  Louvre  was  virtually  spared.  It  was 
set  on  fire,  however,  and  the  magnificent  hbrary  of  ninety 
thousand  volumes  was  entirely  destroyed,  and  many  works  of 
art  were  injured,  but  the  troops  of  the  Repubhc  arrived  in 
time  to  arrest  the  progress  of  the  flames,  and  the  building  was 
preserved. 

The  first  floor  of  the  building  is  devoted  wholh^  to  ancient 
sculpture,  and  a  wilderness  there  is  of  it.  Too  much  of  it,  in 
fact,  unless  one  has  time  for  its  study.  You  stop  a  moment  to 
admire  a  Psyche ;  you  have  only  time  to  glance  at  the  Carya- 
tides in  the  hall  in  which  Henri  IV.  celebrated  his  marriage 
with  Margaret  of  Yalois ;  you  pass  through  the  Salle  du  Gladi- 
ateur,  containing  the  Borghese  Gladiator,  the  famous  work 
made  familiar  through  copies  of  it ;  you  look  down  a  long  hall 
filled  with  wonderful  statues  and  see  at  the  farther  end  the 


328  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

outline  of  a  figure  whose  very  pose  is  a  poem.  The  room  is 
hung  in  crimson  velvet,  and  the  hght,  soft  and  subdued,  makes 
the  figure  seem  almost  that  of  a  living,  breathing  being.  At 
this  distance  the  effect  is  wonderful.  There  was  great 
genius  in  making  the  sculpture;  there  was  almost  as  much 
in  placing  it. 

There  is  a  long  vista  of  beautiful  statues  lining  the  way 
on  either  side  to  the  crimson  chamber,  which,  with  its  gentle 
lights  and  shades,  makes  the  picture  perfect,  and  as  one  feels 
the  delight  of  the  scene  wonder  ceases  at  the  ravings  of  artists 
and  lovers  of  art  over  the  Yenus  of  Milo. 

There,  in  the  center  of  the  crimson  room,  stands  the 
armless  figure  whose  perfection  of  form  and  face  has  never 
been  equaled.  It  stands  alone,  with  nothing  near  to  distract 
the  mind  by  divided  attention,  and  as  the  lover  of  the  beau- 
tiful looks  upon  the  wondrous  beauty  of  that  speechless  yet 
speaking  statue,  admiration  ripens  into  adoration. 

Even  Tibbitts  and  the  faro  bankeress  stood  still  and  silent 
before  it  for  full  twenty  minutes,  and  no  greater  compliment 
was  ever  paid  a  work  of  art.     It  interested  even  them. 

The  figure  compels  feeling.  You  do  not  feel  that  you  are 
enjoying  rare  sculpture,  but  your  sympathies  go  out  to  the 
beautiful  form  before  you,  not  in  cold  marble  but  in  life  —  real 
life,  with  all  the  tender  qualities  belonging  in  nature  to  such 
a  perfect  face  and  figure. 

This  may  be  gush,  but  there  is  something  about  this  block 
of  marble  that  is  fascinating  beyond  expression.  In  it  art  has 
conquered  material.  The  marble  lives  and  breathes.  It  is 
marble,  but  it  is  marble  endowed  with  life.  Or,  rather  it  is 
not  marble,  it  is  life  resembling  marble.  It  is  a  dream  caught 
and  materialized.  If  it  is  not  nature,  it  is  more  than  nature. 
It  is  a  poet's  idea  of  what  nature  should  be. 

Whether  it  be  the  face  with  the  wonderful  features  that 
almost  speak,  or  the  form  so  graceful  in  pose,  or  the  combina- 
tion of  both,  cannot  be  said ;  but  the  effect  is  produced,  and  no 
one  can  withstand  the  silent  appeal  made  by  this  creation  of 
an  unequaled  genius.  It  is  something  of  which  one  cannot 
tire.  The  oftener  it  is  seen  the  greater  the  impression.  It  can 
never  be  forgotten,  nor  can  it   be  described.     It  cannot  be 


A  VERY  PRETTY  ART  SPEECH.  329 

reproduced,  either  in  marble  or  oil.  There  are  innumerable 
copies  of  it  the  world  over,  but'to  feel  and  realize  the  absolute 
perfection  of  the  work  the  original  must  be  seen.  No  copy 
can  do  it  justice. 

The  great  trouble  Avith  the  Louvre  is  there  is  too  much  of 
it.  If  one  could  live  to  the  age  of  Methusaleh  it  would  all  be 
very  well,  but  unfortunately  life  is  short.  You  wish  you  had 
not  so  much  to  see,  for  you  want  to  see  it  all,  and  the  very 
wealth  is  bewildering.  Recollection  becomes  confusing  and 
mixed. 

Of  course  every  one  selects  some  one  picture  or  statue 
which  impresses  him  to  the  point  of  carrying  away  a  memory 
thereof.  We  had  among  us  a  young  American  physician  who 
stood  in  the  orthodox  pose  before  the  Gladiator.  Having 
studied  anatomy,  muscles  and  things  of  that  nature  were  just 
in  his  way.  He  stood  for  full  twenty  minutes  wrapped  in 
what  he  desired  us  to  understand  as  ecstacy,  and  then  dehvered 
himself  thus: — 

"  A 1  This  is  the  very  actuality  of  the  ideahty  of  indi- 
viduality." 

It  was  a  very  pretty  speech,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  lain 
awake  all  the  night  before  arranging  it,  and  that  he  pulled  us 
aU  around  to  the  Gladiator  to  get  his  chance  of  firing  it  off  did 
not  detract  from  its  merit.  No  one  knew  what  it  meant,  but 
the  words  were  mouth  filling,  and  it  did  as  well  as  though  it 
had  some  ghmmer  of  meaning.  There  is  nothing  in  art  like 
good  sounding  words. 

From  the  ground-floor  you  ascend  a  broad  stair -case, 
exquisitely  carved.  You  come  into  another  wilderness,  only 
this  is  in  canvas,  instead  of  marble.  Every  school  in  the 
world  is  represented  here,  for  when  the  French  potentate  was 
not  able  to  buy  he  could  always  sieze.  You  don't  stop  to 
inquire  how  the  collection  was  made  ;  it  is  here,  and  to  an 
American,  or  any  other  foreigner,  that  is  sufficient.  We  come 
to  enjoy  the  pictures,  and  we  don't  care  whether  they  were 
purchased  or  taken  by  force.  There  are,  as  I  said,  one  hundred 
and  forty  of  these  salons,  and  you  must  go  through  them  all. 
There  are  galleries  devoted  to  the  French  school,  ancient  and 
modern,  the  Italian  school,  the  German,  Dutch,  Flemish,  and 


330 


NAS13Y    IN    EXILE. 


Spanish,  and  you  come  away  feeling  a  sort  of  satisfaction  that 
it  has  been  done  ;  but  no  man  living,  in  the  time  one  usually 
has  in  Paris,  can  get  a  good  idea  of  what  is  there  gathered. 
Four  miles  of  art  is  rather  too  much  for  one  short  effort.  It 
is  bewildering  in  its  very  profusion.  One  may  be  fond  of  art, 
but  not  educated  to  the  point  of   taking  so  much  of   it  in 


TIBBITTS  AND  THE  FARO  BANKERESS  ENJOYING  ART. 


systematically.  Nevertheless,  days  spent  in  collections  like 
the  Louvre  are  too  good  to  miss.  Some  of  it  will  stick  to  you 
if  you  cannot  carry  it  all  away. 

Tibbitts  and  the  faro  bankeress  were  delighted.     Tibbitts, 
with  an  eye  to  speculation,  made  elaborate  calculation  as  to 


331 

the  cost  of  the  entire  collection,  and  wondered  whether  or  not 
a  good  thing  could  not  be  made  by  buying  it  all  up  and  exhibit- 
ing it  in  New  York. 

That  was  the  dehght  he  got  out  of  it. 

The  faro  bankeress  protested  that  she  had  never  enjoyed 
art  so  much,  and  had  never  before  known  the  delight  that  was 
in  it.  From  several  of  the  female  figures  she  had  got  ideas  of 
lace  that  were  entirely  new  to  her,  and  she  had  found  and 
fixed  in  her  mind  a  design  for  a  fancy  dress  for  Lulu,  which 
she  should  have  made  the  next  day.  She  wondered  if  she 
could  borrow  the  picture  to  show  to  the  modiste.  She  had  no 
idea  that  the  ladies  of  ancient  days  dressed  in  such  good  taste, 
or  that  they  had  such  wonderful  material  to  dress  with.  Some 
of  the  costumes  she  had  studied  were  altogether  too  sweet  for 
anything. 

And  that  was  the  delight  she  got  out  of  it. 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 

THE    PALAIS-ROYAL. 

The  Palais-Royal  is  the  Parisian  Mecca  for  all  Americans. 
Its  brilliant  shops,  glittering  with  diamonds  and  precious  stones, 
are  so  many  shrines  at  which  Americans  are  most  devout  wor- 
shipers. The}^  go  there  day  after  day,  admiring  the  bewilder- 
ing display,  and  the  admiration  excited  by  the  wily  shopkeeper 
by  his  skill  in  arranging  his  costly  wares  leads  to  purchases 
that  would  not  otherwise  have  been  made.  There  is  a  fascina- 
tion about  a  shop  window  literally  filled  with  diamonds, 
arranged  by  a  Frenchman,  that  is  irresistible,  and  with  hund- 
reds of  such  windows  extending  all  the  way  around  the 
immense  court,  there  is  no  escaping  its  power.  What  a 
Parisian  shopkeeper  doesn't  know  about  display  isn't  worth 
knowing.  All  Paris  is  arranged  solely  for  the  eye.  They 
Ignore  the  other  senses  to  a  very  great  degree. 

With  all  its  present  wealth  and  beauty  the  Palais-Royal 
has  witnessed  some  very  exciting  scenes. 

It  was  built  by  Cardinal  Richelieu  for  his  residence,  and  he 
built  it  extremely  well,  little  dreaming  of  the  scenes  of  carni- 
val, riot,  quarrels,  and  bloodshed  that  were  to  be  enacted  there 
long  after  he  had  vacated  it  forever. 

In  1663,  when  it  was  finished,  it  was  called  the  Palais-Car- 
dinal, but  having  been  presented  by  Richelieu  to  Louis  XIIT., 
whose  widow,  Anne  of  Austria,  with  her  two  sons,  Louis  XIY. 
and  Philippe  d'  Orleans,  lived  there,  it  was  called  the  Palais- 
Royal. 

Louis,  on  coming  into  possession  of  the  Palais,  presented  it 
to  his  brother  Philippe,  during  whose  occupancy  it  was  the 
scene  of  the  most  horrible  orgies  the  world  ever  saw.  The 
royal  profligate  gathered  about  him  a  host  whose  tastes  were 

(332) 


THE    LUXURIOUS    PALAIS. 


333 


PALAIS-ROYAL. 


as  depraved  as  his  own,  and  with  these  he  led  a  hfe  of  wild 
debauchery.  • 

Later  on,  Philippe  Egalite,  exceeding  the  excesses  of  his 
grandfather,  Philippe  d'  Orleans,  made  the  Palais-Royal  the 
s  c  e  n  e     of  _ 

wilder  dis- 
orders t  nan 
had  ever  ^ 
been  seen  ^^ffi 
there  be- 
fore, as  bad 
as  it  had 
been.  He 
was  so  reck- 
less that 
his  princely 
income  was 
not  enough 
to  keep  him 

in  ready  money.  In  fact  his  coffers  were  well  nigh  exhausted 
when  he  conceived  the  idea  of  deriving  a  revenue  from  some  of 
the  property  that  surrounded  the  Palais,  wliich  up  to  that  time 
had  been  used  simply  for  ornamentation.  So  he  caused  a 
number  of  shops  to  be  erected  around  the  garden  adjoining  the 
Palais,  and  from  the  rents  paid  for  these  was  enabled  to  keep 
up  his  former  manner  of  life  until  that  (to  him)  memorable 
morning  in  E^ovember,  1Y93,  when  he  took  a  walk  to  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde,  up  a  short  flight  of  stairs,  and  for  once  in 
his  life  laid  his  head  on  a  hard  pillow.  The  deadly  guillotine 
did  its  Avork,  and  the  riotous  life  of  Phihppe  Egalite  came  to  a 
sudden  end. 

At  that  time  the  upper  rooms  of  the  vast  galleries,  now 
converted  into  handsome  restaurants,  were  devoted  to  gaming, 
and  it  was  no  child's  play,  then,  either.  Here  the  excitable 
nobles,  fascinated  by  the  green  cloth,  lived  in  a  constant  whirl 
of  excitement.  The  stakes  ran  high.  Fortunes  were  made 
and  lost  in  a  night,  and  the  Seine  never  did  so  good  a  business 
in  the  way  of  suicide.  While  these  elegantly  furnished  and 
brilliantly  lighted  salons  witnessed  the  demonstrative  joy  of 


Od4:  ,  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

the  lucky  winner  or  the  gloomy  despondency  of  the  unhappy 
loser,  scenes  of  an  entirely  different  nature,  and  far  more 
terrible  in  their  results  were  being  enacted  in  the  cafes  below. 

In  these  cafes  met  the  leaders  of  the  people  who  were 
organizing  for  the  destruction  of  the  thoughtless  revelers 
above  their  heads.  It  was  the  old  story  over  again.  The 
canaille^  as  the  nobles  termed  the  people,  were  groaning  under 
the  loads  imposed  upon  them.  The  life-blood  of  the  French 
people  was  being  drained  by  the  parasites  of  royalty  —  it  was 
waste  on  the  one  hand  and  starvation  on  the  other.  Every 
gold  piece  that  passed  upon  the  tables  above  represented  so 
much  unpaid  for  sweat  from  the  many  below.  Absolute 
power  had,  as  it  always  does,  run  into  unbridled  license,  and 
unbridled  license  had  made  the  people  desperate.  They  might 
not  succeed,  but  they  could  no  more  than  die,  and  the  life  they 
had  was  not  worth  the  having. 

It  was  in  these  cafes  that  Camille  Desmoulins  organized  the 
people,  and  with  such  arms  as  they  could  seize  on  that  memor- 
able morning  in  July,  marched  upon  the  Bastille.  They  did 
not  need  arms.  That  mob,  so  led,  could  have  torn  down  the 
hoary  old  wrong  with  their  bare  hands.  There  was  not  a 
man  or  woman  in  the  throng  that  surged  out  of  the  Palais 
that  morning  who  had  not  some  especial  reason  for  its  destruc- 
tion. Confined  within  its  walls  had  died  their  brothers  and 
fathers.  To  them  it  was  royalty,  and  to  royalty  they  owed 
every  woe  that  afflicted  them. 

Desperate,  determined  men  they  were,  crazed'  with  excite- 
ment, and  caring  for  nothing.  They  reached  the  Bastille  and 
hurled  themselves  against  its  stubborn  sides.  Again  and  again 
were  they  beaten  back  by  the  garrison  Avithin,  but  each  repulse 
only  served  to  more  determined  efforts,  and  finally  on  the 
14th  of  July  the  Bastille  was  swept  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Nothing  was  left  of  it  but  the  terrible  memories  of  the  bloody 
past. 

In  1801-7  the  first  Napoleon  assembled  the  Tribunate  in  the 
Palais-Boyal,  and  in  1815,  Lucien  Bonaparte  made  it  his  resi- 
dence during  the  "  One  Hundred  Days."  From  1815  to  1830 
it  was  again  in  the  possession  of  Orleans  family,  and  Louis 
Philippe  occupied  it  until  his  ascension  to  the  throne.     Eighteen 


THE    COMMUNE. 


335 


years  later,  during  the  Revolution  of  February,  which  finally 
resulted  in  the  Presidency  of  Louis  Napoleon  and  subsequently 
ills  election  by  plehiscite  as   Emperor,  the  royal   apartments 


VISION  OF  THE  COMMUNE. 


were  completely  wrecked.     The  mob,  wild  with  excitement, 
went  through  the  Palais  like  a  whirlwind,  destroying  anything 


336  NASBY   IN    EXILE. 

and  everything  it  could  lay  its  hands  upon.  Of  all  the  mag- 
nificent paintings,  the  exquisite  statues,  the  marvelous  collec- 
tions of  fine  glass  and  porcelain,  with  which  the  royal  apart- 
ments were  adorned,  nothing  escaped  their  fury.  Almost  the 
entire  building  was  destroyed. 

Napoleon  III.,  who  did  so  much  to  beautify  Paris,  restored 
the  Palais  to  its  original  condition,  and  it  continued  so,  being 
the  residence  of  Prince  ^N'apoleon,  cousin  of  the  Emperor  and 
son  of  Jerome  Napoleon,  until  the  outbreak  of  the  war  in  1870. 
Then  in  18Y1,  on  the  22d  of  May,  the  Communists  took  a  hand 
at  it,  and  sad  work  they  made.  Almost  the  entire  south  wing 
was  destroyed  by  fire,  and  the  other  portions  were  badly 
damaged. 

Now  it  is  bright  and  gay  with  its  magnificent  display  of 
diamonds,  its  pleasant  little  park  with  fountains  and  statues,  its 
long  spacious  galleries  that  form  unequaled  promenades,  and 
its  restaurants  celebrated  the  world  over. 

The  galleries,  four  in  number,  extend  entirely  around  the 
square  park,  which  is  two  hundred  and  fifty-seven  yards  long 
and  one  hundred  and  ten  wide.  The  Galerie  d'  Orleans,  on  the 
south  side,  is  the  most  showy.  It  is  three  hundred  and  twenty 
feet  long  and  one  hundred  and  six  feet  wide,  flanked  with 
shops,  containing  fine  goods  of  all  descriptions.  The  roof  is 
glass  covered,  and  when  lighted  up  at  night,  presents  a 
dazzling  appearance.  It  was  on  this  site  that,  previous  to 
1830,  stood  the  disreputable  shops  that  gave  the  locality  such 
an  unsavory  reputation. 

The  other  galleries,  though  not  so  fine  in  construction,  are 
just  as  attractive,  and  their  wide  pavements,  shaded  by  the 
high  balcony  that  forms  a  part  of  the  second  story,  are 
thronged  day  and  night  with  strangers,  to  whom  these  win- 
dows, ablaze  with  the  light  of  precious  stones,  are  always  a 
dehght.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  saunter  slowly  along  and  admire 
the  beauties  that  increase  every  minute. 

Nowhere  in  the  world  can  be  found  so  great  a  collection 
of  gems  in  so  small  a  space  as  in  these  four  galleries.  The 
fronts  of  the  stores  consist  of  a  huge  plate  glass  window  and  a 
small  door.  Although  disproportionate  in  size,  the  window 
suffices  to  show  the  goods,  and  the  door  is  plenty  large  enough 


IN    THE    COURT    YARD. 


m 


for  any  one  who  wishes  to  enter.  The  Frenchman  has  a 
natural  love  for  the  beautiful,  and  the  French  jeweler  shows 
his  taste  in  the  arrangement  of  his  window.  A  large  space, 
covered  with  diamonds,  set  and  unset,  of  fine  gold  jewelry, 
artistic  designs  in  rubies,  pearls,  opals,  or  emeralds,  is  in  itself 
a  beautiful  sight,  but  when  they  are  all  arranged  so  as  to  show 
them  all  to  the  best  advantage,  then  the  effect  is  marvelous. 

But  there  can  be  too  much  of  a  good  thing.  As  a  whole 
day  spent  among  the  wonders  of  the  Louvre  fatigues  the  mind 
and  body,  so  the 
constant  succes- 
sion of  dazzling 
windows  in  the 
Palais-Royal  b  e  - 
comes  after  a 
while  tiresome, 
and  the  pretty 
little  park  is 
sought  for  rest 
and  refreshment. 
There  the  scene 
changes  again, 
and  a  new  and 
interesting  phase 
of  the  Palais- 
Roy  a  P  s  attrac- 
tions is  seen. 
Under  the  long 
rows  of  trees  that 
fringe  the  busy 
galleries  are 
groups  of  women  enjoying  the  cool  breeze  that  just  moves  the 
branches  above  them,  and  tempers  the  heat  that  elsewhere  is 
oppressive.  They  have  some  little  trifle  of  fancy  work  in  their 
hands,  and  as  they  languidly  ply  the  needle  they  talk.  It  may 
be  too  warm  to  knit.     It  is  never  too  warm  to  gossip. 

Closely  imitating  these  are  the  bonnes,  or  nurse  girls,  old 
and  young,  who  chatter  away  like  magpies,  while  their  charges 
are  amusing  themselves  making  pictures  in  the  sand.      The 
22 


MOTHER  AND  BONNE  —  PALAIS-ROYAL. 


338 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


THE  YOUTHFUL  BONNE. 


youngsters  romp  and  roll  about  with  all  the  pleasure  of  child- 
hood.     They  don't  care  whether  the  Palais-Ro^^al  ever  saw 

bloodsheds  and  riots  or  not.     It 
makes    a    good    playground    for 
them,  and  that  is  all  they  want. 
Then   the   concerts  that  are 
given  there  during  the  afternoons 
are   enjoyable,   and   they   always 
attract  large  audiences.    -The  en- 
tire  space   on   the    south   side   is 
occupied    by   all  kinds   and   con- 
ditions   of    people,   and    like    all 
French    assemblages,   it   is    quiet 
and   orderly.     The   music,  if  not 
of  a   high    classical    standard,   is 
good,   and    the   people    enjoy  it. 
Given  a  Httle  white  table  in  the 
open  air,  some  light  Offenbachian 
music  and  a  glass  of  wine,  and  the  Frenchman  is  happy. 
The  restaurants  in  the  Palais-Royal  form  another  by  no 
means  unimportant  feature,  for  the 
average  American  is  no  less  fond  of 
a  good  dinner  than  the  French  hon 
vivant^  and  in  these  pleasant  places 
he  can  find  the  perfection  of  good 
living.     The  skill  of  French  cooks  is 
acknowledged  everywhere.    Here  he 
is  on  his  native  heath,  and  is  seen, 
or  tasted  rather,  to  his  best  advan- 
tage. 

The  clerk  or  bookkeeper  whose 
salary  is  not  in  keeping  with  his 
tastes,  takes  his  modest  dinner  in 
one  of  the  second-floor  restaurants, 
where  he  gets  a  small  bottle  of  claret  and  a  well  cooked,  well 
served  meal  for  two  francs.  The  place  is  clean,  the  surround- 
ings cheerful,  and  though  there  are  none  of  those  delicate 
trifles  the  French  cook  delights  in  making,  there  is  an  abun- 
dance of  Jiunger-satisfying  viands  prepared  in  a  most  appetizing 


THE  AGED   BONNE. 


A    TALE    OF   THE    COMMUNE.  339 

manner,  and  they  are  to  him  better  than  the  delicacies  that 
grace  a  more  elaborate  table. 

The  more  pretentious  man,  or  the  one  having  more  money, 
goes  to  more  pretentious  places,  and  takes  a  dinner  of  several 
courses  for  five  francs.  There  is  a  pleasing  variety  of  soup, 
fish  and  entrees,  with  a  dessert,  and,  if  desired,  coffee  and 
cognac  afterward,  all  prepared  in  good  style,  and  well  served. 

But  the  thoroughly  good  Hver  goes  to  none  of  these.  He 
knows  the  places,  there  in  the  Palais-Royal,  where  cooking 
has  been  reduced  to  a  science  ;  where  the  finest  cooks  in  Paris 
bend  their  best  energies  to  the  concoction  of  dishes  that  Epi- 
curus himself  would  have  delighted  in ;  where  fine  pictures 
and  elegant  surroundings  appeal  to  the  sense  of  sight,  while 
the  sense  of  taste  is  being  catered  to.  He  hies  himself  there 
and  revels  in  the  delights  of  a  perfect  dinner. 

As  the  Parisian,  man,  woman,  or  child,  will  never  sit  in- 
doors when  the  open  air  is  possible,  the  Palais  is  always  full. 
As  a  park  it  is  delightful ;  the  shops  are  just  as  attractive  to 
the  citizen  as  to  the  stranger,  for  the  windows  change  contents 
every  day,  and  the  variety  is  such  that  something  new  and 
attractive  can  be  seen  at  any  time.  It  is  a  small  world  by 
itself,  and  it  is  no  wonder  that  every  American  finds  him  or 
herself  within  it  every  day. 

It  is  always  a  good  thing  to  get  hold  of  a  good  modern 
legend,  a  story  that,  while  it  may  not  be  as  gray -headed  as 
those  of  the  time  of  the  gods  and  goddesses  the  ancients  wrote 
of,  has  still  attained  a  respectable  age  —  a  middle-aged  legend, 
as  it  were.  Such  an  one  I  have  unearthed,  and  write  it  down 
for  the  benefit  of  coming  generations. 

It  was  during  the  terrible  days  of  the  Commune,  Madem- 
oiselle Therese,  a  beauty  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  was 
loved  by  a  Monsieur  Adolph,  the  son  of  a  rich  baker  in  that 
quarter.  That  is  to  say,  the  baker  was  rich  —  but  I  am  antici- 
pating. Mademoiselle  was  a  dressmaker  of  ravishing  beauty. 
She  could  have  married  far  above  her  condition  on  account  of 
this  ravishing  beauty,  but  she  was  as  wise  as  she  was  beautiful. 
She  said  to  herself,  '*  I  could  marry,  by  virtue  of  my  face  and 
figure,  a  grand  gentleman,  but  —  what  then  ?  I  am  not  accom- 
plished.    I  could  learn  to  be  a  fine  lady,  it  is  true ;   but  when 


340  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Monsieur  should  tire  of  me,  as  he  inevitably  would,  I  should 
lead  a  very  uncomfortable  life.  I  am  a  daughter  of  France  — 
I  do  not  wish  to  lead  an  uncomfortable  life.  Adolph  is  not 
handsome  ;  he  is  only  Aye  feet  four  ;  he  has  bandy  legs  ;  his 
hair  is  bad,  and  his  nose  is  a  pug ;  but  his  papa  has  much 
ducats,  and  he  is  so  much  in  love  with  me  that  he  will  take 
me  without  a  dot,  and  on  his  papa's  money  we  shall  do  busi- 
ness. I  shall  manage  the  business,  we  will  make  much  more 
money,  and  found  a  family  of  our  own,  of  which  I  shall  be 
the  head !  Who  knows  ?  My  sons  will  be  gentlemen,  and  my 
daughters  shall  marry  into  the  best  families.  Clearly,  I  shall 
marry  Adolph." 

She  had  one  other  suitor  whom  she  favored  somewhat, 
because  he  was  a  handsome  fellow  of  some  aristocratic  connec- 
tions, but  he  lacked  the  money  of  Adolph' s  father,  being  the 
heir  of  an  impoverished  house  that  had  barely  enough  to  live 
on  in  a  sort  of  scrimped  gentility.  He  was  the  son  of  a  widow 
whose  husband  died  with  rothing,  leaving  her  with  just  what 
she  inherited  from  her  own  family,  which  was  little  enough, 
the  Lord  knows. 

In  some  speculations  at  this  time,  Adolph's  father,  to  use 
the  language  of  the  ancients,  went  up  the  spout.  He  lost 
every  sou  he  had  and  in  his  chagrin  laid  down  and  died,  which 
precluded  the  possibility  of  his  acquiring  another  fortune. 

Mademoiselle  Therese  found  herself  in  this  predicament : — 

She  was  solemnly  engaged  to  Adolph. 

Adolph  was  bandy-legged,  five  feet  four  inches  in  height, 
with  a  pug  nose  and  sandy  hair. 

Adolph  possessed  the  additional  drawback  of  not  having  a 
sou  to  bless  himself  or  herself  with. 

It  was  a  terrible  situation. 

At  this  precise  time  Henri,  her  other  suitor,  had  come  into 
improved  circumstances.  An  uncle  had  died  leaving  him 
something,  not  as  much  as  she  had  expected  with  Adolph,  but 
yet  something.  In  addition  to  this  the  handsome  young  fellow 
had  served  gallantly  in  the  war,  had  attained  the  rank  of  Lieu- 
tenant, and  was  well  up  in  the  military. 

He  came  to  her  with  his  improved  prospects  and  once  more 
tendered  her  his  hand. 


THE    WISDOM    OF    TIIERESE.  341 

She  thought  it  over  and  decided  to  accept  him.  "  It  is  my 
duty.  I  adored  Adolph,  despite  his  legs,  and  hair,  and  nose, 
but  I  have  a  duty  I  owe  to  France.  How  can  I  bring  up 
children  for  France  on  nothing  and  encumbered  with  a  five- 
foot  four  husband  with  sandy  hair,  a  pug  nose,  and  bandy  legs  ? 
Clearly  it  is  my  duty  to  marry  Henri." 

But  how  to  get  rid  of  Adolph  ?  It  would  never  do  to  jilt 
him,  for  it  would  ruin  her  reputation,  and  then  she  had  a 
regard  for  his  feelings. 

^'It  would  drive  him  to  madness  should  he  lose  me,  and 
once  mad  he  would  become  a  burden  to  France.  I  will  spare 
his  feehngs." 

By  this  time  the  Commune  was  in  possession  of  Paris,  and 
the  ISTationa]  troops  Avere  besieging  the  city.  Henri  was  with 
the  National  troops,^ while  Adolph  was  a  bitter  Communist,  as 
were  all  the  Parisians  who  had  lost  their  money. 

Women  are  proverbially  fickle,  and  French  women  especially. 
Therese  was  not  only  a  woman,  but  she  was  a  French  woman. 
Therefore,  there  could  be  no  question  as  to  her  fickleness.  She 
had  pondered  long  and  seriously  over  the  situation,  and  was 
troubled.  Matrimony  is  a  very  serious  matter,  and  she  finally 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  could  not  marry  Henri.  She 
loved  him  to  distraction,  but  he  had  not  enough  money.  With- 
out a  rich  husband  she  should  still  have  to  depend  upon  her 
needle  for  a  living,  and  if  she  had  to  needle  her  way  through 
life  she  preferred  to  do  it  for  herself  alone.  This  interesting 
female  found  herself  engaged  to  two  men,  and  determined  to 
marry  neither.     But  she  was  equal  to  the  emergency. 

"  I  have  it,"  said  Therese  to  herself.  "  I  wiU  extricate 
myself  from  this  dilemma.  I  will  not  marry  Henri.  I  cannot. 
It  is  a  duty  I  owe  to  myself  to  have  money,  and  a  great  deal 
of  it.  Henri  has  not  enough,  and  yet  I  have  promised  to 
marry  him.  Adolph  has  none,  and  yet  I  have  promised  to 
marry  him,  though  I  cannot  blame  myself  for  this.  When  I 
promised  him  he  had  money.  But  I  will  marry  neither,  and 
will  spare  the  feelings  of  both.  No  daughter  of  France  ever 
wounds  the  feelings  of  those  who  love  her.  Love  must  be 
respected,  even  though  it  cannot  be  returned.  I  see  my  way 
out  of  these  woods." 

A  terrible  struggle  was  impending.     The  citizens  and  soldiers 


342  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

could  not  help  coining  in  collision  the  next  day.  Adolph, 
armed  as  the  Communists  were,  called  upon  her,  on  the  after- 
noon preceding  the  final  struggle. 

She  sat  calmly,  frozen  with  despair. 

"  Love  of  my  life,"  said  she,  bursting  into  tears,  "  you, 
to-morrow,  rush  upon  death ;  I  —  I  shall  survive  —  would  that 
I  might  die  with  you.     What  will  become  of  me  ? " 

"  I  may  not  die,"  said  Adolph,  "  but  if  I  do  it  will  be  for 
La  Belle  FranceP 

And  he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  which  was,  as  I 
have  stated,  five  feet  four.  All  Frenchmen  draw  themselves 
up  to  their  full  height  when  they  say  "  La  Belle  FranceP 

"  I  have  come,  my  darling,  to  bid  you  farewell.  To-morrow 
we  are  to  be  attacked  — " 

"Yes,  I  know  it,  Adolph,  and  as  much  as  I  adore  you,  I 
adore  France  more.  I  am  a  daughter  of  France.  Fight! 
Be  a  hero !  All  Frenchmen  may  be  heroes.  And  listen ! 
There  will  lead  the  enemy  to-morrow  an  officer  whom  you 
must  recognize.  He  is  six  feet  tall,  with  a  black  mustache, 
dressed  in  the  uniform  of  the  Tenth.  He  will  have  a  cockade 
on  the  left  side  of  his  hat.  He  must  die !  He  is  an' aristocrat ! 
He  is  brave,  and  being  an  aristocrat  and  brave,  clearly  he  must 
die  that  France  may  live !  Shoot  him  as  you  would  an  enemy 
of  France !     To  a  hero  —  a  French  hero  —  I  can  say  no  more ! " 

"  He  dies  —  I  swear  it !  "  ejaculated  Adolph,  drawing  him 
self  once  more  up  to  his  full  height. 

"And  now,  my  heart's  beloved,  go;  and  meet  whatever 
fate  may  be  in  reserve  for  you  like  a  man  —  like  a  Frenchman. 
But  stay !  you  have  a  watch,  shirt-studs,  cuff  -buttons,  and 
some  money.  Should  you  fall,  this  portable  property  would 
be  seized  by  the  enemy,  and  be  used  against  France.  That 
would  be  deplorable.  In  this  holy  cause  one  should  think  of 
everything.  Leave  them  with  me,  and  when  you  return  —  oh, 
my  beloved,  you  must  return  !     Else  I  shall  die  !  " 

And  Adolph  took  his  personal  effects,  and  gave  them  to 
her,  and  with  a  passionate  embrace  was  about  to  leave  her. 

"  Stay  a  moment,  my  darling.  You  must  not  go  into  battle 
without  a  charm  to  keep  the  bullets  from  you.  Here  !  "  and 
she  twisted  a  ribbon,  a  very  red  one,  into  a  bow,  and  pinned 
it  in  the  front  of  his  cap.     "  Now  go  and  be  a  hero  !  " 


THE    TWO    LOVERS.  343 

He  gave  her  a  passionate  embrace,  she  sank  to  the  floor  in 
a  fainting  fit,  and  he  rushed  out  with  a  gesture. 

As  soon  as  the  door  was  shut,  she  rose  very  calmly,  and 
inventoried  the  property. 

''  It  is  not  much,  but  it  is  better  than  nothing.  I  am  a 
daughter  of  France.  I  will  be  content  with  what  is  sent  me  ; 
but  I  think  the  chain  is  oroide,  and  I  know  the  shirt  studs  are 
snide." 

A  few  moments  later  Henri  entered.  She  received  him 
with  evident  signs  of  pleasure. 

■  "  Therese,"  said  the  handsome  young  fellow,  "  I  know  that 
you  love  me.  We  attack  the  canaille  to-morrow.  I  come  to 
bid  you  farewell.     I  may  never  see  you  again  !  " 

"  Henri !  I  love  you !     But  fight  like  a  hero  for  France !  " 

"  Adorable !  Rapture  !  This  is  peaches !  I  will  fight ;  I 
will  be  a  hero  —  I  am  in  the  hero  line  just  noAv.  You  have 
given  me  a  new  heart.     Oh,  Therese  !  " 

And  then  there  was  more  kissing  and  embracing,  which 
was  all  very  nice. 

Then  Henri  rose  and  said  he  must  go.  Mars  could  not 
wait  upon  Yenus.     France  called  him. 

"  Must  you  go  ?  Alas !  But,  Henri,  should  you  fall,  what 
would  become  of  me?" 

"  Die,"  said  Henri,  "  and  follow  me  to  the  next  world." 

Therese  said  to  herself,  "  IS^ot  much,  I  thank  you.  1  know 
a  trick  worth  two  of  that.  I  prefer  to  live."  But  she  said 
audibly : 

''I  cannot  die,  for  I  shall  live  to  avenge  you  and  France. 
But  should  you  die  on  the  field,  the  horrible  Commune  will 
take  your  watch,  your  chain,  your  personal  effects,  to  continue 
this  sacrilegious  strife.     Leave  them  with  me." 

Henri  emptied  his  pockets,  and  took  off  his  watch  and 
everything  on  his  person  that  had  value,  even  to  his  cuff 
buttons,  and  then  Therese  said: 

"  You  have  your  money  in  the  hands  of  Duclos,  the  Notary. 
Give  me  an  order  for  that,  for  he  is  affected  toward  the 
Commune.  France  before  everything.  When  you  return  we 
wiU  destroy  the  paper.  Should  you  fall,  I  will  spend  it  to 
avenge  you." 


844:  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Then  Henri  wrote  the  order  for  the  money,  and  the 
prudent  girl  had  up  the  concierge,  who  witnessed  it,  to  make 
it  all  legal  like,  and  then  with  one  passionate  embrace  she 
bade  him  farewell. 

"Stay,  but  for  a  moment,  my  heart's  beloved,"  she  said. 
"  Foremost  on  the  barricade  to-morrow  you  will  see  a  youno- 
man  who  is  an  enemy  of  France.  There  is  n't  much  of  him, 
but  what  there  is,  is  pizen.  You  will  know  him  —  he  is  only 
five  feet  four  high,  has  sandy  hair  and  a  pug  nose,  and  very 
bandy  legs.  He  ought  to  dance  well,  for  he  is  put  up  on 
elliptic  springs.  He  wears  a  red  bow  in  his  cap  in  front.  He 
must  die,  for  he  is  an  enemy  to  France.  Swear  that  he  shall 
not  live." 

"  I  swear.  He  is  as  good  as  dead  now.  You  may  bet  your 
sweet  life  he  populates  a  trench  to-morrow  night.  He  shall 
count  one  in  the  census  of  the  hereafter." 

"  Thanks  —  for  France.  And  now,  my  beloved,  go  !  Be  a 
hero.     But  stay,  wear  this  for  my  sake," 

And  she  pinned  very  securely  upon  the  left  side  of  his  hat, 
a  cockade,  and  they  embraced  once  more,  and  he  left  the  room, 
leaving  her  in  a  swoon. 

"Poor  thing!"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  took  one  last  look 
at  her,  curled  up  gracefully  on  the  floor,  "shall  I  leave  her 
thus?     Yes;   she  could  not  endure  a  second  parting." 

And  he  Avent.  Then  she  immediately  got  up  and  invent- 
oried his  property,  and  put  the  order  for  his  money  in  her 
bosom,  which  all  French  women  do,  though  I  can't  say  that 
that  is  a  very  safe  place  —  in  France.  And  she  was  pleased  to 
find  that  his  jewelry,  though  not  extensive,  was  all  genuine, 
and  she  said  her  prayers  and  went  to  bed,  with  the  calmness  of 
one  who  had  done  her  whole  duty. 

The  next  day  the  assault  was  made  and  things  worked 
about  as  Therese  had  calculated.  Adolph  had  but  one  object- 
ive point  and  that  was  the  man  with  a  cockade,  and  Henri  car- 
ried a  carbine  for  the  fellow  with  the  red  bow.  They  saw 
each  other  at  precisely  the  same  moment,  both  fired  the  same 
moment,  and  both  fell  mortally  wounded.  Having  each 
noticed  a  peculiar  mark  upon  the  other's  hat  they  used  what 
life  was  left  in  them  to  crawl  to  each  other. 


THE   END   OF   THE   ROMANCE. 


345 


-<««»">-'^  ■■■";"C>3vv^5!5>- 


"  Who  put  that  ribbon  in  your  cap  ? "  gasped  Henri. 

"  Therese !     And  who  that  cockade  in  yours  ? " 

^^  Therese !     And  she  took  my  effects  ? " 

''  And  mine.  Perfide  !  But  Ave  die  for  France  all  the  same  ? " 

''Precisely." 

And  they  both  went  into  the  hereafter.  Therese  waited 
quietly  and  with  great  resignation  till  the  troubles  were  over, 
and  then  real- 
ized upon  her 
trust  funds. 
Shortly  after 
she  purchased 
a  cafe  in  a  good  ^7^ 
drinking  quar- 
ter and  grew 
wealthy.  She 
married  a  rich 
banker,  whose 
place  of  busi- 
ness was  just 
over  her's,  and 
they  waxed 
very  rich. 

"What  kind 
of  a  banker 
was  he  ? "  I  in- 
quired of  a  gen- 
tleman who  in- 
distinctly mas- 
tered some  of 
the  English 
language. 

"Heeezsome 
thing  vat  you 
in  L'  Amerique  Avould  call —  vat  eez  eet  ?  —  oui^  a  faro  banker." 

I  do  not  vouch  for  the  truth  of  this  legend,  though  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe  it  to  be  true.  I  was  personally  in  a 
cafe  presided  over  by  a  woman  whom  I  firmly  believe  could 
manage  just  such  a  scheme.  True  or  not,  it  shows  what  the 
women  of  France  will  do  for  their  beloved  country. 


WHO  PUT  THAT  RIBBON  IN  YOUR  CAP?" 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

FRENCH     DRINKING. 

The  French  are  the  most  temperate  people  on  the  globe. 
"Why  this  is  so  is  not  easily  explained,  for  it  would  be  naturally 
supposed  that  so  excitable  a  people  ought,  in  the  very  nature 
of  things,  to  be  intemperate.  They  have  no  fixed  code  of 
morals,  as  the  Saxon  people  have,  and  they  make  no  pretense 
of  anything  of  the  kind.  They  are  intemperate  enough, 
heaven  knows,  in  their  politics,  and  apparently  so,  to  a  stranger 
who  does  not  understand  French,  in  their  conversation  ;  but  in 
the  matter  of  drinking  they  don't  do  enough  of  it  to  injure  an 
English  baby,  and  an  American  is  lost  in  amazement  at  the 
little  stimulant  they  get  on  with. 

There  are  drinkers  of  the  deadly  absinthe,  and  occasionally 
indulgers  in  the  more  immediate  but  less  fearful  brandy,  but 
they  are  rare.  The  absinthe  drinkers  are,  as  a  rule,  literary 
men,  reformers,  and  the  long-haired  visionaries  who  have  a 
notion  that  in  stimulants  there  is  inspiration,  and  the  reckless 
ones  who  hold  that  the  more  they  get  out  of  life  in  ten 
minutes  the  more  they  enjoy.  They  are  the  men  who  invite 
the  guillotine,  and  walk  to  the  scaffold  with  great  alacrity, 
and  shout  "Yive  La  France,"  in  the  most  picturesque  and 
absurd  manner.  The  devotee  of  absinthe  drinks  it  as  a  part 
of  his  social  system,  and  generally  dies  of  softening  of  the 
brain  at  about  thirty-five.  He  thinks  he  has  a  good  time,  but 
he  does  not. 

There  are  low  people  who  stupefy  themselves  with  cheap 
brandy,  but  they  are  not  common.  The  Frenchman  does  not 
take  kindly  to  the  fierce  stimulant  so  common  across  the  chan- 
nel, and  the  amount  of  raw  whisky  consumed  each  day  by  the 
average  whisky-drinking  American  would  fill  him  with  aston- 

(340' 


THE    WATER    OF    PARIS.  347 

ishment.  He  cannot  comprehend  it  at  all,  and  regards  such  a 
man  as  a  brute.  Possibly  he  is  not  very  much  out  of  the  way. 
I,  for  one,  quite  agree  with  him. 

And  when  it  comes  to  wine  he  is  very  moderate.  There  is 
very  little  alcohol  in  the  red  wine  he  drinks,  so  little  that 
Tibbitts,  after  taking  a  glass  of  it,  remarked  that  he  had 
known  water  in  America  that  was  more  exhilarating.  And 
that  wine,  mild  as  it  is,  he  dilutes  fully  one-half  with  water, 
and  sips  it  very  slowly.  In  an  evening  he  consumes  not  more 
than  a  pint  of  it,  getting  out  of  that  pint  about  as  much  stimu- 
lation as  is  held  in  one  drink  of  American  sod-corn  whisky. 

But  it  suffices  him.  He  sits  and  laughs  and  talks  just  as 
well  over  this  mild  swash  as  the  American  does  over  his  fiery, 
bowel-burning,  stomach-destroying,  brain-shriveling  liquor,  and 
a  great  deal  more,  for  he  enjoys  himself,  and  the  American 
does  not.     At  least,  so  I  have  been  informed. 

The  use  of  wine  is  universal.  It  is  in  the  bed-room  in  the 
morning,  on  the  table  at  twelve  o'clock  breakfast,  it  is  taken  at 
dinner  at  six  o'clock,  and  during  the  evening  till  bed-time. 

The  water  of  Paris  is  very  bad;  at  least,  so  all  Parisians 
tell  you,  though  I  cannot  see  why  it  should  be.  I  tasted  it 
several  times,  and  I  saw  no  especial  difference  between  Paris 
water  and  any  other,  except,  as  they  do  not  use  ice,  it  does  get 
rather  insipid  in  the  Summer,  when  the  thermometer  reaches 
ninety-five.  But  there  is  a  superstition  prevalent  that  it  is 
unhealthy,  and  hence  it  is  never  used  as  a  beverage  unless  it  is 
quahfied.  The  Frenchman  drops  a  lump  of  sugar  in  it  when 
he  takes  it  raw,  though,  as  a  rule,  wine  is  used  as  a  corrective. 

Tibbitts  had  a  bottle  of  cognac  in  his  room  to  mix  with  the 
water.  He  insisted  that  he  thought  too  much  of  his  mother 
and  her  happiness  to  endanger  his  life  by  taking  the  water,  bad 
as  it  was,  clear,  and  the  wine  of  the  country  did  not  agree  \vith 
him.  He  wanted  to  get  back  to  America,  he  did,  that  his 
friends  might  have  the  benefit  of  his  foreign  experience. 

An  American  in  London  remarked,  that  in  all  the  time  he 
spent  in  that  city  he  met  but  one  cordial  Englishman,  and  he 
was  a  Dublin  man.  So  with  me  in  Paris.  In  all  the  time  I 
spent  there  I  saw  very  few  drunken  Frenchmen,  and  they 
were  to  a  man  from  either  London  or  New  York,  and  I  made 


348 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


very  thorough  search.     The  sobriety  of  the  people  is  some- 
thing wonderful. 

I  saw  plenty  of  men  exhilarated;   I  heard  more  laughter 

than  I  ever  heard 
in  twice  the  time  in 
any  other  country: 
but  drunkenness,  the 
drunkenness  that 
maunders,  and  is 
idiotic,  or  the  drunk- 
enness that  tends  to 
destroying  property  or 
life,  I  saw  none  of. 
In  the  Jardin  Mabille, 
where  in  England  or 
America  drunkenness 
would  be  co-extensive 
with  the  attendance,  at 
the  students'  balls,  at 
the  Chateau  Kouge  or 
at  even  the  less  pre- 
tentious places,  there 
was  hilarity  in  plenty, 
but  no  vinous  or  spirituous  excess.  The  same  condition  of 
affairs  obtains  in  Switzerland  and  Germany.  I  don't  want 
any  man  to  say  this  is  not  so,  for  I  assert  that  drunkenness 
is  comparatively  unknown  in  the  two  countries  where  wine 
and  beer  are  the  staple  drinks  of  the  people  of  all  classes.  I 
am  aware  that  the  same  statement  has  been  made  hundreds 
of  times  before  and  disputed  a  thousand  times,  and  therefore 
I  was  at  pains  to  get  at  the  truth  of  the  matter. 

The  use  of  wine  in  France  is  universal.  It  is  drank  by  the 
commonest  laborer  and  the  most  aristocratic  citizen.  You  go 
nowhere  that  you  do  not  see  it  —  it  is  everywhere  present,  and 
is  the  one  drink  of  the  country.  The  fruitful  vineyards  of 
France  make  it  almost  as  cheap  as  water,  and  the  pampered 
wives  and  daughters  of  the  ancient  nobility  who  bathed  in 
wine  were  not  guilty  of  a  very  frightful  extravagance  after  all. 
What  a  Frenchman  satisfies  his  appetite  with  for  drink  is 


THE   CORRECTIVE   USED   BY  MR.  TIBBITTS. 


THE   MILD    SWASH. 


349 


something  astonishing".     The  middle-aged  man  in  America  who 


THE  COCO   SELLER. 


would  deliberately  ask  for  the  root-beer  of  his  youth  would  be 
laughed  at  as  a  milk-sop.     In  America  even  the  lemonade 


350  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

drinker  is  not  looked  upon  with  favor,  although  that  is  admiss- 
ible. 

But  in  Paris  you  shall  see  a  sturdy  man  walking  the 
streets  with  an  immense  can  upon  his  back  with  cups  attached, 
and  men  of  all  ages  stop  him.  He  draws  from  the  can  a  cup 
full  of  a  liquid.  lie  drinks  it  and  pays  for  it.  What  do 
you  suppose  this  liquid  is  ?  Merely  a  decoction  of  herbs  and 
Spanish  licorice,  and  coco,  as  harmless  as  mother's  milk,  and  a 
great  deal  more  insipid.  Of  mother's  milk  I  cannot  speak,  for 
it  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  tasted  it.  I  wish  to  heaven  that 
the  gap  between  the  present  and  the  mother's  milk  period  were 
less.  But  the  Frenchman  patronizes  the  coco  seller,  and  his 
Chinese  pagoda  arrangement  is  always  well  patronized. 

There  is  no  drunkenness.  It  may  be  that  the  Frenchman 
does  not  want  to  get  drunk,  but  I  am  convinced  that  the 
nature  of  the  regular  beverage  of  the  country  is  to  be  cred- 
ited with  this  delightful  exemption  from  the  great  curse  that 
devastates  other  countries.  I  am  compelled  to  this  conclusion, 
for  I  have  noticed  that  the  French  in  America  and  England, 
where  spirituous  liquors  are  the  rule,  come  to  be  as  frightful 
drunkards  as  anybody;  and,  per  contra,  I  know  scores  of 
Americans  in  Paris  who  at  home  drank  whisky  habitually,  and 
in  consequence  rarely  went  to  bed  sober  —  so  seldom  that 
when  it  did  happen  tiieir  wives  needed  an  introduction  to 
them  —  I  know  scores  of  these  men  here  who  have  fallen 
into  the  French  habit,  and  drink  nothing  but  wine,  and  are  as 
sober  as  the  French  themselves.  They  are  getting  to  be  so 
good  that  some  of  them  have  felt  justified  in  taking  on  other 
sins  to  keep  them  down  to  the  true  American  average.  They 
have  discovered  that  they  can  get  on  very  well  with  wine,  and 
do  not  crave  the  fiery  liquid  they  considered  so  necessary  at 
home. 

I  made  a  point  of  investigating  this  very  thoroughly,  for  in 
days  past  I  have  seen  some  drunkenness  and  the  effects  thereof. 
I  have  seen  the  dead  bodies  of  women  murdered  by  drunken 
husbands ;  I  have  seen  the  best  men  in  America  go  down  to 
disgraceful  graves;  I  have  seen  fortunes  wrecked,  prospects 
blighted ;  and  I  have  perused  a  great  many  pages  of  statistics. 
There  are  crimes  on  the  calendar  not  resulting  from  rum,  but, 


A    WOEFUL    LACK    OF    MORAL.  351 

were  rum  eliminated,  the  catalogue  would  be  so  reduced  as  to 
make  it  hardly  worth  the  compiling.  Directly  or  indirectly, 
rum  is  chargeable  with  a  good  ninety  per  cent,  of  the  woes 
that  afflict  our  country. 

The  moral  to  all  this  is  —  but  come  to  think  of  it  I  am  not 
here  to  point  out  morals.  I  have  made  a  true  statement,  and 
each  one  may  extract  from  it  any  moral  he  chooses.  This  is 
all  there  is  of  it :  The  French  drink  all  the  wine  they  want, 
and  the  French  are  a  sober  people.  It  hasn't  much  to  do 
with  foreign  travel ;  but  to  see  thousands  of  men  sitting  and 
drinking  without  a  light,  an  angry  word,  a  broken  head,  or  a 
black  eye,  was  so  delightful  an  experience  that  I  felt  it  must 
go  upon  paper. 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 


PARISIAN    LIVING. 


The  Parisian  family,  unless  it  be  one  of  the  bloated  aristo- 
crats and  pampered  children  of  luxury,  do  not  occupy  separate 
houses,  as  families  do  in  American  cities.  Rents  are  somewhat 
too  high  to  permit  that  luxury,  and  besides  they  never  were 
used  to  it,  and  it  wouldn't  suit  them  at  all.  They  have  been 
accustomed  to  living  up  stairs  for  so  many  generations  that  I 
doubt  if  a  genuine  Parisian  of  the  middle  classes  could  be 
happy  on  or  near  the  ground  floor. 

The  first  floor,  and,  for  that  matter,  the  second  and  third, 
in  the  heart  of  the  city,  are  devoted  to  business  purposes. 
Above  the  third  floors  the  residences  begin,  and  they  continue 
to  the  very  top.  As  a  rule,  each  floor  constitutes  a  dwelling 
by  itself,  with  halls,  parlor  or  drawing-room,  dining  and  sleep- 
ing rooms  and  kitchen,  all  compactly  and  very  conveniently 
arranged.  True,  some  of  these  apartments  are  small,  not  large 
enough  to  swing  a  cat  in ;  but,  as  Mr.  Dick  Swiveler  wisely 
observed,  "  You  don't  want  to  swing  a  cat,  you  know."  The 
French  housekeeper  finds  a  kitchen  five  feet  wide  and  six  feet 
long  quite  large  enough  for  the  preparation  of  the  food  for  the 
family,  and  the  sleeping  rooms,  being  only  used  for  sleeping, 
may  be  very  comfortable,  if  they  are  only  large  enough  to 
hold  a  bed  and  the  other  necessary  furniture. 

The  entrance  to  these  buildings  is  on  the  ground  floor,  and 
is  a  wide  gateway  with  a  diminutive  suite  of  apartments  on 
one  side,  which  is  habited  by  the  concierge,  or,  as  the  English 
call  it,  the  porter.  This  personage,  usually  a  woman,  receives 
all  messages  from  the  different  flats  above  her,  answers  all 
calls  and  gives  all  the  information  concerning  the  various 
families  inhabiting  it.     It  is  she   who  cleans  the   main  stair 

(352) 


HOW    YOU   GET   INTO    YOm    HOUSE.  353 

case  which  goes  to   the  top  of  the  house,  and  has  charge  of 
the  buildings. 

At  night,  say  at  eleven,  the  great  doors  guarding  this 
common  entrance  are  shut,  and  whoever  desires  to  enter 
thereafter  finds  a  bell-pull,  the  other  end  of  which  is  at  the 
head  of  the  concierge's  bed.  She  doesii't  bother  herself  to  get 
up  and  see  who  it  is,  but  she  merely  pulls  a  wire,  the  bolt  of 
the  great  door  is  withdrawn,  you  enter,  and  shutting  the  door 
after  you  —  it  fastens  with  a  spring  lock  —  go  to  your  floor, 
and  enter  your  own  house. 

Tibbitts  likes  this  idea  very  much.  He  says  that  when  you 
come  home  late  at  night,  and  not  precisely  in  the  condition 
to  be  accurate  about  things,  there  isn't  any  nonsense  about 
finding  a  key  first,  and  then  going  through  the  more  delicate 
operations  of  finding  a  keyhole  and  getting  the  key  in  right 
side  up.  "AH  you  have  to  do  is  to  catch  on  that  bell-pull, 
and  the  more  unsteady  you  are,  the  better,  for  you  lean  back 
upon  it,  and  your  whole  weight  takes  it."  And  he  further 
remarked  that  there  wasn't  a  concierge  in  Paris  who  would  n't 
know  his  ring  before  he  had  been  in  the  house  a  week. 

The  principal  business  of  the  concierge  and  her  entire 
family  is  to  keep  the  stairs  clean.  I  once  held  that  the 
Philadelphia  servant  girl  would  die  were  the  supply  of  water 
to  run  out  so  that  she  could  not  wash  sidewalks  and  marble 
steps,  but  she  has  a  worthy  rival  in  the  Parisian.  The  stairs 
leading  to  the  top  of  the  buildings  are  kept  sloppy  all  the  time 
with  the  perpetual  cleaning.  Indeed  so  constantly  is  this 
going  on  that  no  time  is  given  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  clean 
stairs.  Not  only  the  stairs  are  cleansed,  but  the  very  sides  of 
the  building  are  washed  and  scrubbed  once  in  so  many  years, 
by  law.  If  Paris  only  took  as  much  pains  with  its  inside  as  it 
does  with  its  outside !     But  it  does  n't. 

Once  inside  the  houses,  the  first  thing  that  strikes  an 
American  is  the  total  absence  of  carpets ;  that  is,  carpets  as  we 
have  them.  The  floors  are  of  wood  in  many  patterns,  and  in 
the  center  there  may  or  may  not  be  a  rug,  which  covers, 
perhaps,  two-thirds  of  the  room.  A  room  carpeted  the  entire 
surface  is  very  rare,  and  I  must  say  that  therein  the  French 
housekeeper  does  better  than  the  American.  These  rugs  are 
23 


354-  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

taken  up  very  frequently,  it  being  no  trouble,  and  are  kept 
clean  and  free  of  dust,  something  impossible  when  they  are 
fastened  to  the  floor,  as  is  the  custom  across  the  water. 

In  the  Summer  they  are  taken  out  of  the  way  entirely,  and 
the  bright  waxed  floor  is  deliciously  cool,  and  in  the  Winter 
the  rug,  always  in  warm  colors,  forms  a  pleasing  contrast  to 
the  wood  on  the  edges.     The  French  idea  is  better  than  ours. 

The  French  housekeeper  is.  perfection  in  her  way.  She 
allows  nothing  to  go  to  waste.  There  is  not  a  penny's  worth 
more  purchased  than  can  be  used,  and  the  ending  of  the  day 
sees  the  ending  of  what  was  bought  for  the  day.  If  there 
are  ten  to  sit  down  to  the  table  there  is  soup  made  for  just 
ten  —  not  enough  for  twenty  and  the  remainder  to  the  slop 
bucket  —  and  there  is  just  meat  enough  to  make  ten  portions, 
and  no  more.  There  is  butter  for  ten  and  vegetables  for  ten. 
By  the  way,  very  little  butter  is  used.  Wine  is  provided  ad 
libitum,  and  even  that,  cheap  as  it  is,  is  carefully  poured  from 
the  half  or  two-thirds  emptied  bottles  into  others  and  carefully 
husbanded  till  the  next  meal  brings  it  out. 

There  is  nothing  of  meanness  in  this  —  only  the  good  sense 
not  to  waste.  The  French  housewife,  very  properly,  sees  no 
use  in  throwing  away  food  any  more  than  she  does  money. 
Consequently,  despite  the  much  higher  cost  of  provisions,  a 
French  house  gets  on  in  better  style  than  an  American,  and 
at  a  much  less  expenditure. 

The  skill  of  the  French  cook  is  proverbial,  and  his  reputa- 
tion is  deserved.  One  of  the  craft  once  said  that  with  a  pair 
of  cavalry  boots,  a  handful  of  grass  and  plenty  of  salt  and 
pepper,  he  could  make  soup  for  a  regiment,  and  I  believe  him. 
They  use  more  vegetables  than  we  do,  and  use  them  infinitely 
better.  Out  of  the  despised  carrot,  which  seldom  makes  its 
appearance  on  American  tables,  they  make  a  delicious  dish, 
and  their  treatment  of  potatoes,  tomatoes,  and  the  whole  race 
of  salad-making  vegetables,  is  something  akin  to  miraculous. 
They  use  oil  in  profusion,  and  no  matter  what  the  raw 
material  is  that  comes  under  the  hands  of  a  French  cook, 
there  is  a  taste  and  relish  about  the  product  that  is  satisfying 
as  well  as  gratifjdng.  The  Frenchman  at  his  table  aims  at 
all  the  senses.     To  begin  with  it  is  garnished  with  flowers, 


THE    MARKET   WOMAN,  355 

and,  second,  the  dishes  gratify  hunger,  and,  thirdly,  they 
gratify  the  taste.  Then,  as  an  appropriate  finish,  they  will 
have  the  most  cheerful  conversation,  and  for  the  time  all  care 
and  trouble  is  banished  and  the  feeding  time  is  the  good  time 
of  the  household.  A  Frenchman  may  come  to  his  house  ever 
so  much  depressed,  but  he  has  a  thoroughly  enjoyable  time 
at  his  dinner.  He  may  rise  from  the  table  and  blow  his  brains 
out,  but  at  the  table  no  one  would  ever  know  or  dream  that 
he  ever  had  a  trouble. 

Among  the  middle  classes,  and  indeed  the  better,  the  lady 
of  the  house  does  the  marketing  in  person.  It  is  too  important 
a  matter  to  be  entrusted  to  a  servant,  for  they  are  exceedingly 
particular  as  to  the  quality,  and  equally  so  as  to  the  price  of 
the  suppHes.  French  market-people,  especially  the  women, 
are  the  shrewdest  and  the  most  unscrupulous  in  the  world, 
and  it  requires  much  care  and  skill  not  to  be  imposed  upon. 
I  went  one  morning  with  my  landlady  to  see  a  French  market. 

The  first  thing  desired  was  a  lobster.  One  was  selected 
and  then  commenced  the  bargaining. 

"  How  much  ? "  demanded  the  Madame. 

"Five  francs,''  was  the  answer,  "and  very  cheap  it  is. 
Observe,  Madame,  its  size,  and  its  condition.  Oh,  1  have  noth- 
ing but  the  best.     Shall  I  put  it  into  your  basket  ? " 

"  l^o,  it  is  too  much  ! " 

"  Too  much !  Madame,  you  would  starve  me.  Well,  then, 
you  are  an  old  customer  (she  had  never  seen  Madame  before), 
I  will  give  it  to  you  —  I  would  no  one  else  —  for  four  and  a 
half.     It  is  ruin,  but  I  can't  keep  them  over." 

"  I  will  give  you  two  francs." 

"Two  francs!  You  jest,  Madame.  Two  francs  for  this 
king  of  lobsters  —  this  emperor!  Ah  no!  but  I  will  say  four 
—  and  little  Jean  shall  go  without  shoes." 

"  Two  francs." 

"  Say  three  and  a  half  —  my  landlord  can  do  without  his 
rent  till  times  are  better." 

Precisely  as  the  two  franc  offer  was  being  accepted,  a 
young  man  drove  up  in  a  stylish  coupe. 

"  How  much  for  that  lobster  ? " 


356  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

"  Ten  francs,  Monsieur  le  Colonel,"  replied  the  dame  with- 
out a  blush. 

"  Wrap  it  up  and  put  it  in  my  carriage,"  was  the  reply,  and 
it  was  done. 

"  Why  did  you  ask  him  ten  francs  when  you  only  asked  me 
live  to  begin  with,  and  intended  to  take  two?"  demanded  my 
landlady,  purely  that  I  might  hear  the  answer. 

"  Eh  ?  Oh,  the  young  man  has  plenty  of  money  —  it  is  for 
his  little  woman,  I  suppose.  We  poor  must  live,  and  I  must 
make  my  profit.  But  here  is  one  just  like  it  —  rather  better. 
Shall  I  say  three  francs  ? " 

"  Two." 

"  Well,  it  must  be  so.     But  I  lose  money." 

The  old  dame  made  a  good  hundred  per  cent,  as  it  was. 

As  it  was  in  lobsters  so  it  was  in  everything.  The  price 
offered  in  every  instance  was  about  two-fifths  of  the  price 
asked  and  even  then  it  was  not  certain  but  that  too  much  was 
not  paid.  But  when  a  French  market  woman  and  a  French 
housekeeper  come  together  there  is  not  going  to  be  very  much 
swindling.  Both  know  their  business  and  whoever  gets  the 
best  in  the  encounter  may  congratulate  herself  upon  possessing 
a  great  deal  of  acumen. 

The  servants  in  French  families  are  now  tolerably  attentive 
and  obliging,  but  their  bearing  depends  very  much  upon  the 
political  condition  of  the  country.  Every  Frenchman  is  a  pol- 
itician, and  they  have  all  the  shades  of  politics  down  to  the 
humblest,  and  the  lower  orders,  as  elsewhere,  take  their  poli- 
tics from  their  superiors.  The  retainers  in  the  families  of  the 
old  nobihty  are  Monarchists  to  a  man,  and  hate  the  Republic 
with  a  hatred  that  the  dispossessed  nobility  themselves  do  not 
feel.  The  waiters  at  the  cafes  and  those  who  entered  domestic 
service  latterly  are  all  virulent  Republicans,  disagreeably  so. 
Especially  was  this  true  just  after  the  downfall  of  the  Third 
Napoleon,  and  after  the  Commune.  A  lady  of  my  acquaint- 
ance, who  got  out  of  Paris  just  before  the  Commune,  returned 
and  rearranged  her  household  after  order*  was  restored  Her 
daughter  had  engaged  servants,  and  the  good  old  lady  rang 
for  one. 


TAKISIAN    WASHING.  357 

*'Are  you  one  of  the  new  servants?"  she  asked,  as  a 
strange  man  answered  her  summons. 

"  No,  Madame.  I  am  in  your  employment,  but  no  servant. 
Since  the  Republic,  there  are  no  servants.  Address  me,  please, 
as  '  citizen ! ' " 

And  she  was  compelled  to  do  it,  or  go  without  service. 
The  man  considered  himself  the  equal  of  his  mistress  in  all 
particulars,  and  would  be  counted  nothing  less. 

Fuel  is  very  costly  in  France,  and  consequently  very  little 
used.  In  Paris  the  climate-  is  mild,  and  very  httle  is  needed. 
But  the  same  economy  is  observed  in  this  as  in  everything. 
Twigs  of  trees  and  the  smallest  bushes,  cut  in  uniform  lengths, 
are  used  for  firing,  and  for  cooking  the  use  of  charcoal  is 
almost  universal. 

As  the  shops  furnish  food  as  cheaply  as  it  can  be  prepared 
at  home,  it  is  only  in  families  that  cooking  is  done.  The 
washing  among  this  class  is  done  altogether  at  the  public 
wash-houses  in  the  Seine.  These  are  immense  boats  anchored 
close  to  the  bank  and  partitioned  off  into  spaces  just  wide 
enough  for  a  woman  to  work  comfortably.  For  two  sous,  the 
woman  has  the  use  of  tubs  and  hot  and  cold  water  ad  lihitum. 
She  takes  her  bundle  of  soiled  goods,  and  her  own  soap,  and 
washes  them,  using  a  heavy  wooden  paddle  to  drive  the  soap 
through  the  fabric,  instead  of  the  pounder  and  washboard, 
and,  wringing  them  out,  carries  them  home  wet.  A  few  sous' 
worth  of  charcoal  suffices  to  iron  them,  and  the  same  fire 
cooks  her  little  dinner,  and  so  two  very  important  birds  are 
killed  with  one  stone.  The  shop  girls,  whose  attics  will  not 
admit  of  a  fire,  have  no  other  way  of  washing  their  clothes, 
and  so  the  public  wash-houses  are  always  full. 

The  eating  of  the  day  commences  with  a  very  slight  break- 
fast in  your  room  at  any  hour  you  choose.  The  said  breakfast 
consists  of  exactly  one  cup  of  coffee  or  chocolate  —  it  is  meas- 
ured accurately,  there  is  exactly  one  cup  in  the  little  pot  — 
two  rolls  and  an  infinitesimal  portion  of  fresh  butter.  You 
bid  good-bye  to  salted  butter  when  you  leave  the  steamer. 
On  this  you  exist  till  twelve,  or  thereabouts,  when  you  have  a 
breakfast  as  is  a  breakfast.  There  are  eggs  and  one  or  two 
varieties  of  meat,  and  wine  ad  libitum,  ending  with  sweets. 


358 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


This  over,  at  six  you  have  the  meal  of  the  day,  the  dinner, 
consisting  of  five  or  six  courses,  commencing  with  the  everlast- 


ing soup,  and  ending  with  black  coffee.     Wine  constitutes  the 
drink  of  this  meal,  as  at  the  breakfast. 

It  takes  an  American  some  little  time  to  get  used  to  this 
light  breakfast,  but  when  accustomed  to  it  he  is  entirely  satis- 


THE   TIDY   FRENCH    WOMAN.  359 

fied  with  it.  If  he  has  nothing  to  do  it  is  certainly  better 
than  the  heavy  breakfast  of  his  own  country,  and  unless  he 
has  the  most  violent  bodily  labor  to  perform,  it  is  better  than 
to  go  to  business  with  an  overloaded  stomach.  Anyhow, 
whether  you  like  it  or  not,  it  is  all  you  can  get,  and  a  wise 
man  always  manages  to  like  what  is  inevitable.  One  very 
soon  gets  to  hking  this  very  strange  innovation  upon  one's 
estabhshed  habits. 

The  French  woman  esteems  tidiness  and  cleanliness  above 
everything  on  earth,  that  is,  outward  tidiness.  If  rumor  be 
true,  they  are  not  so  particular  as  to  internal  economy,  but 
the  outside  of  the  platter  must  be  as  white  as  the  driven  snow. 
An  English  or  American  woman  wiU  walk  the  sloppy  streets 
and  drag  her  skirts  in  the  mud  and  filth  till  they  are  not  only 
uncomfortable  but  are  absolutely  indecent  in  appearance.  All 
this  could  be  avoided  by  merely  hfting  the  skirts,  but  the 
notion  of  dehcacy,  the  fear  of  exposing  an  ankle,  prevents 
this.  That  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  notion  of  delicacy.  The  French 
woman  has  other  views.  Her  ankles  are  not  sacred,  but  her 
skirts  are.  She  will  not  liave  soiled  skirts,  she  wiU  not  have 
petticoats  with  the  filth  of  the  streets  upon  them,  and  so 
when  she  comes  to  a  vile  spot,  she  lifts  her  skirts  and  passes 
over  without  carrying  any  of  the  filth  with  her.  It  matters 
not  if  her  ankles  are  exposed.  That  she  expects.  But  she 
does  this  skirt-lifting  with  such  a  grace  and  such  a  manner 
that  to  an  American  even  it  is  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world.  The  French  woman  hoists  her  skirts  in  a  way  that 
makes  it  apparent  to  the  most  critical  observer  that  it  is  not 
done  to  show  neatly  turned  ankles,  but  to  save  her  person 
from  filth.  It  is  a  necessity  with  her,  from  her  stand-point, 
and  is  consequently  accepted  as  such.  She  has  no  objection 
to  exposing  a  shapely  ankle,  but  whether  the  ankle  be  shapely 
or  not,  no  Parisian  woman  will  ever,  under  any  circumstances, 
be  untidy.  She  has  a  passion  for  neatness,  and  a  very  pleasant 
passion  it  is.  Would  that  she  were  as  correct  in  her  other 
passions. 

Every  woman  in  Paris,  or  for  that  matter  everywhere  in 
France,  works.  This  is  the  secret  of  French  prosperity.  This 
explains  the  ease  with  which  the  French  people  recovered  from 


360 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


the  extravagance  of  the  Empire,  the  frightful  cost  of  the  war 
with  Prussia,  and  the  enormous  indemnity  exacted  by  the 
merciless  Bismarck.  It  is  the  universality  of  labor,  and  the 
knowing  how  to  live  well  upon  next  to  nothing.     A  French 


THE  NO-LEGGED  BEGGAR  WOMAN — BOULEVARD  DES   CAPUCIXES. 

wife  not  only  does  the  house  keeping  for  her  family,  but  she 
takes  care  of  the  shop.  She  sells  the  goods  which  her  husband 
makes.  Say  he  is  a  trunkmaker  —  he  is  in  the  shop  on  the 
floor  above,  or  the  floor  below,  as  the  case  may  be,  working 
for  dear  life,  but  in  the  salesroom  sits  Madame,  his  wife,  or 


FEMALE    SHOP-KEEPEKS.  361 

Mademoiselle,  his  daughter,  who  sells  the  goods,  takes  the 
money,  keeps  the  books,  buys  the  materials,  and  runs  the 
business  end  of   the  concern. 

But  this  is  not  all.  Customers  do  not  come  in  every  minute, 
and  Madame  has  time  upon  her  hands.  She  does  not  waste  it. 
There  are  her  children,  too  young  to  work,  but  they  must  be 
clothed,  and  if  there  are  no  children  there  are  a  few  sous  to  be 
earned  by  knitting,  or  fancy  needlework.  And  so  all  this 
spare  time  is  put  in  by  Madame,  sewing  or  knitting,  either  for 
her  own  family  or  for  a  market,  l^ot  a  minute  goes  to  waste. 
Wherever  you  see  a  French  woman  you  see  her  doing  some 
thing.  The  nurse-maid,  who  takes  her  charges  out  for  an 
airing,  has  work  in  her  hands,  and  she  works.  In  the  gardens 
in  the  Palais-Royal  you  shall  see  hundreds  of  nurse-maids 
whose  charges  are  playing  under  the  beautiful  trees,  knitting 
industriously,  one  eye  on  the  work  and  the  other  on  the  child- 
ren, and  in  every  shop  you  enter  you  see  the  same  thing. 

Wages  are  very  low,  but  with  this  absolute  economy  of 
time  and  the  more  absolute  economy  in  the  matter  of  living, 
the  French  workingman  manages  to  get  on  better,  on  an 
average,  than  those  in  the  same  station  in  any  other  country  in 
the  world.  French  industry  and  French  thrift  make  anything 
in  the  way  of  living  possible.     There  is  nothing  like  it. 

Transportation  is  very  cheap  in  Paris  and  exceedingly  good. 
The  omnibusses  are  large  and  the  street  cars  likewise,  and  have 
the  delight  of  holding  as  many  people  on  the  top- as  on  the 
inside.  And  then  they  are  never  overcrowded.  You  are 
entitled  to  and  get  a  seat.  When  the  seats  are  all  taken  the 
sign  "Complet,"  is  displayed,  and  no  more  passengers  are 
admitted.  A  ride  on  the  top  of  a  French  omnibus  in  good 
weather  is  a  delight. 

The  Frenchman  tries  to  imitate  the  English  and  Americans 
in  the  matters  of  sport,  but  it  is  a  sorry  failure.  The  young 
French  sport  gets  himself  up  in  remarkable  sporting  costumes, 
and  goes  out  gunning,  and  always  returns  with  game.  Does 
he  shoot  it  ?  Alas !  It  can  be  bought,  and  —  he  buys  it.  But 
he  brings  in  his  hare  or  his  birds,  or  whatever  can  be  bought 
that  has  been  freshly  killed,  and  proudly  displays  it  to  his 
friends  and  talks  loudly  of  the  pleasures  of  field  sports. 


S62 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


Fishing  ia  the  Seine  is  another  amusement,  though  I  never 
met  anybody  who  had  ever  caught  a  fish.  There  are  more 
lines  in  the  Seine  any  hour  of  the  day  than  there  are  fish,  but 


HOW  THE  FRENCH  SPORT  KILLS  GAME. 

they  all  fish  just  the  same.     The  docks  are  lined  with  men  and 
boys  at  all  hours,  and  all  standing  as  gravely  and  patiently  as 


THE    FKENCH    SPOET. 


363 


though  they  made  their  living  by  it.     The  sight  of  a  fish  would 
astonish  them. 

Bloss,  my  old  showman  friend,  arrived  last  night  from 
Switzerland.  There  are  a  number  of  bears  kept  at  Berne,  the 
property  of  the  city,  one  of  which,  some  years  ago,  killed  an 


FISHING  IN   THE  SEINE. 


English  officer  who  fell  into  his  den.     That  bear  —  but  Bloss 
may  tell  his  own  story. 

"Wat  I  wantid  wuz  that  bear.     I  wantid   that   identical 
bear,  the  very  one  that  squoze  the  Britisher.     Ef  I  cood  hev 


364 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


got  that  bear  it^  wood  hev  bin  the  biggest  thing  in  the  annals 
of  the  show  biznis.     So  I  went  to  Berne  and  saw  the  President 


of  the  Swiss  EepubHc.  I  offered  him  fust  two  hundred  dollars 
for  it,  pervided  he  would  write  a  certifikit  on  parchment  and 
put  the  seal  of  the  Hepublic  onto  it  that  it  wuz  the  identical 


A   SHOW   ADVERTISEMENT. 


365 


animile.     Ye  see,  ef  he  bed  done  this  I  should  hev  put  it  onto 
the  bills  this  way : — 

That  there  may  be  no  doubt  iu  the  minds  of  a  too-oft  deceived  public, 
deceived  by  audacious  pretenders  who  advertise  what  they  know  they  can- 
not perform, 
that  this  is  the 

I,  identical  f  e  r  o  - 
cious  bear  that 
did  actually  kill 
an  unfortunate 
British  officer  in 
the  presence  of 

■j  his  newly-made 
bride  (he  was  n't 
married  at  all, 
but  you  can't 
awaken  no  in- 
terest without 
the  pathetic)  — 
who  was  power- 
less to  extricate 
him  from  the 
tenacious  grasp 
of  the  ferocious 
brute,  the  most 

IM  thf 

Tjjjip,,,!^,^^  certificate  of  the 

ii'i'll  President  of  the 

Swiss  Republic, 
J  with  the  broad 
seal  of  the  Re- 
public attached, 
will  be  exhibi- 
ted at  each  and 
every  entertain- 
ment,   all  re- 
ports to  the  con- 
trary   notwith- 
standing,   and 
positively  with- 
out  any  extra 
charge.     This  statement  is  made  to  counteract  the  envious  and  malicious 
reports  of  would-be  rivals,  who  seek  to  make  up  by  slander  and  misrepre- 
sentation, what  they  lack  in  enterprise  and  resource. 

I  should  hev  bed  a  copy  —  a  f ac-similer  —  uv  the  certifikit 
printed,  in  two  colors,  and  I  shood  hev  bed  the  certifikit  itself 


THE  SHOWMAN  SHOWN   THE  DOOR. 


366 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


hung  out  afore  the  big  tent,  and  it  would  hev  bin  wuth  a  heap 
uv  money  to  me. 

"  Did  you  succeed  ? " 

"Succeed!  Why  the  bloated  aristocrat  refoozed  to  hev 
anything  to  say  to  me,  and  directed  a  servant  to  show  me  out. 
A  pretty  Kepublic  that  is,  where  the  President  won't  hear  a 
common  biznis  proposishen !  And  then  I  went  to  the  Mayor 
uv  the  city,  and  when  my  proposishen  wuz  translated  to  him, 
he  remarked  that  he  wuz  n't  in  the  bear  biznis,  and  he  hed  me 
showed  out.  I  shood  like  to  be  a  voter  in  Berne  at  one  elec- 
shun.  But  I  shel  hev  the  bear  that  killed  the  offiser  jes  the 
same.  That  is,  I  shel  advertise  that  one  uv  the  bears  I  yoose 
that  eat  the  children  in  the  Elijah  act  is  the  identikle  one.  I 
don't  like  to  deceeve  the  public  —  I  hed  ruther  deal  strate  with 
'em,  but  I  must  git  my  expenses  out  uv  that  trip  to  Berne 
somehow,  and  I  shel  hev  the  President's  certifikit  all  the  same. 
Yes,  and  blast  me  ef  I  don't  add  the  Mayor's  to  it  to  make 
ashoorence  doubly  shoor.  I  ain't  agoin'  to  Berne  for  no  thin', 
nor  am  I  goin'  to  lose  an  ijee.     Ijees  are  too  skase  to  waste  one." 

"  Did  you  enjoy  this  trip  to  the  land  of  Tell  ? " 

The  sound  of  the  word  "  Tell,"  was  sufficient  to  tap  the 
old  gentleman  once  more,  and  he  went  off  into  a  narrative 
that  flowed  smoothly  as  cider  from  a  barrel. 

"The  land  uv  fell!  I  shel  never  forgit  Tell  — Willyum, 
the  Swiss  wat  shot  a  apple  offen  his  boy's  head.  It  wuz  way 
back  in  1844,  when  I  was  runnin'  my  great  aggregashun  in  the 
West.  We  had  a  minstrel  sideshow  in  the  afternoon,  and  a 
regler  theater  for  a  sideshow  in  the  evenin'.  Our  leadin'  man 
wuz  Mortimer  de  Lacy,  from  the  principal  European  and  Noo 
York  theaters  —  his  real  name  was  Tubbs;  he  wuz  the  son  uv 
a  ginooine  Injun  physician,  which  hed  stands  about  the  coun- 
try suthin'  like  a  circus  —  who  wuz  very  fond  uv  playin'  Tell. 
De  Lacy  wuz  one  uv  the  most  yooseful  men  I  ever  hed.  He 
rid  the  six  hoss  act,  the  "  Rooshun  Courier  uv  Moscow,"  and 
did  the  stone-breakin'  act,  where  he  bends  over  on  his  arms  and 
hez  stuns  broken  on  his  breast  with  sledges,  and  he  did  the 
cannon  ball  act,  and  in  the  afternoon  wuz  the  interlocootor  in 
the  minstrel  show,  playin'  the  triangle  —  anybody  kin  play  the 
triangle,  and  he  aUuz  sed  he  wood  give  anything  ef  he  cood 


367 

manage  a  banjo  or  even  a  accordeon  so  ez  to  git  up  in  the 
perf esh  —  and  in  the  evenin'  he  did  the  classical  in  high  tragedy. 
The  afternoon  minstrel  show  wuz  for  the  country  people,  but 
the  play  in  the  evenin'  wuz  to  ketch  the  more  refined  towns 
folks.     Well,  one  day  De  Lacy  cum  to  me,  and  sez  he : — 

" '  Guvnor,  I  hev  a  idear.' 

" '  Spit  it  out,'  sez  I.     '  Idears  is  wuth  money  in  our  biznis.^ 

" '  I  kin  make  Tell  more  realistic.  You  know  the  way  we 
do  the  shootin'  uv  the  apple  off  the  boy's  head  is  to  shoot  an 
arrer  into  the  wings  and  the  boy  comes  runnin'  out  with  a 
split  apple  in  his  hand.' 

"  ^  Yes,  that's  the  way  it  alluz  hez  bin  done.  It's  a  tradishn 
uv  the  stage.' 

"  'I  perpose  to  hev  the  boy  stand  on  the  stage  in  full  view 
uv  the  awjence,  and  to  shoot  the  apple  off  his  head  under  their 
very  eyes.     It's  a  big  thing.' 

"'Big  thing!  I  should  say  so.  But  you  can't  shoot  an 
apple  with  an  arrer.     You  could  n't  hit  the  side  of  a  barn.^ 

a  i  Yery  good,,  but  this  is  my  idear.  We  only  play  TeU  at 
night.  We  stretch  a  wnre  across  the  stage  jes  the  height  of 
the  boy,  and  the  wire  runs  through  the  apple  on  the  boy's 
head.  Then  I  hev  a  loop  fixed  onto  the  arrer,  and  when  I 
shoot  it  runs  along  the  wire — see?  —  and  knocks  the  apple 
into  smithereens.     It's  a  big  notion.' 

"  It  occurred  to  me  that  it  wood  be  a  good  piece  of  biznis 
and  I  agreed  to  it.  My  youngest  boy,  Sam,  alluz  played  the 
boy,  and  De  Lacy  and  I  fixed  the  riggin'  and  hed  it  aU  right. 
To  make  it  more  realistic  De  Lacy  hed  a  very  broad-headed 
arrer  made  so  that  the  awjence  should  see  it  wuz  reel,  and 
everythin'  wuz  ready.  When  that  scene  come  on,  the  boy 
come  out  walkin'  very  keerf ul  —  we  hed  the  apple  fixed  tight 
upon  his  head  so  that  ef  he  walked  in  a  strate  line  it  woode  n't 
be  moved,  and  he  wuz  placed.  After  the  speeches  De  Lacy 
sprung  the  bow,  and  let  the  arrer  drive  with  all  the  force 
it  hed." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  thrilling  scene." 

"Thrillin'l  Yoo  bet!  But  we  didn't  repeat  it.  Bekaze 
yoo  see  the  wire  slackened,  and  the  arrer  struck  Sam  on  the 
top  uv  the  head  and  scalped  him  as  clean  as  a  Camanche  Injun 


ICyS 


NASBY   IN    EXILE. 


cood  hev  done  it,  and  he  howled  and  jumped  onter  De  Lacy 
and  the  wire  tore  down  the  two  wings  it  wuz  hitched  onter,  and 
De  Lacy  in  gittin'  rid  uv  him  tore  down  the  rest  uv  the  wings, 
and  they  clinched  and  rolled  down  onto  the  stage,  and  the 
awjence  got  up  and  howled,  and  the  peeple  all  rushed  on,  and 
there  wuz  about  ez  lively  a  scene  ez  I  ever  witnessed  in  a  long 
and  varied  experience.  It.  wuz  picteresk  and  lurid.  I  rung 
the  curtain  down  and  separated  'em.  It  wuz  a  good  idear,  but 
it  didn't  jes  work,  owin'  to  defective  machinery." 

"But  it  turned  out  pretty  well,  after  aU.     The  smart  man 
is  he  who  turns  wat  to  others  wood  be  a  misf  ortoon  to  account. 


THE  TELL   CATASTROPHE. 


I  hed  the  scalp  tanned  with  the  hair  outside,  and  ez  soon  ez 
Sam's  bald  head  healed  up  I  exhibited  him  in  a  blue  rounda- 
bout, with  brass  buttons  —  I  bought  the  soot  cheap  uv  a  beU 


THE    CAREER    OF    SAM. 


369 


boy  at  a  hotel  in  Cincinnati  —  ez  the  son  uv  the  Eev.  Melchiza- 
dek  Smith,  a  missionary  for  thirty  years  among  the  Injuns, 
who  wuz  scalped  at  the  time  his  father  wuz  barbariously  killed, 
and  I  hed  a  life  uv  the  Eev.  Smith  writ,  and  an  account  of  the 
massacre,  and  Sam  sold  it  after  he  hed  bin  exhibited.  It  did 
very  well  till  he  got  too  big  for  that  biznis." 

"  But  Sam  is  doin'  very  well.  He  is  now  an  end  man  in  a 
minstrel  show,  and  he  does  the  Lancashire  clog,  and  does 
mighty  well  in  the  wench  biznis,  and  he  hez  a  partner  in  the 
brother  biznis,  the  De  Montmorencies,  I  beleeve  they  wuz, 
the  last  time  I  heerd  uv  'em.  He  wiU  git  on — he  hez  a  great 
deal  uv  talent  and  kin  turn  his  hand  to  almost  anything." 


ZOOLOGICAL  ROOM  — BRITISH  MUSEUM. 


24 


CHAPTER  XXY. 

IRELAND. 

**  'Tis  the  most  distressful  country  that  ever  yet  was 

They're  hanging  men  and  women  there  for  the  wearin'  of  the  green." 

Fkom  France  the  gay,  France  the  prosperous,  France  the 
dehghtful,  to  Ireland  the  sad,  Ireland  the  poor,  Ireland  the 
oppressed,  is  a  tremendous  jump.  Contrasts  are  necessary, 
and  my  readers  are  going  to  have  aU  they  want  of  them. 


CORK  HARBOR. 


Cork  is  a  lovely  city;  that  is,  it  would  be  a  lovely  city 
were  it  a  city  at  all.  Nature  intended  Cork  for  a  great  city, 
but  man  stepped  in  and  thwarted  Nature.  It  is  situated  on 
the  most  magnificent  site  for  a  city  there  is  in  all  Europe.     A 

(370) 


COKK.  371 

wonderfully  beautiful  river,  with  water  enough  to  float  any 
vessel,  flows  through  it;  and  at  the  mouth  of  that  river, 
twelve  miles  below,  is  one  of  the  great  harbors  of  the  world. 
Queenstown  —  I  wonder  that  any  Irishman  ever  consented  to 
call  it  Queenstown  —  is  the  nearest  port  to  the  ^eat  western 
hemisphere,  and  Cork  should  be  the  center  of  all  the  trade 
from  America. 

It  is  twenty-four  hours  nearer  'New  York  than  Liverpool, 
and  should  be  the  final  landing-place  of  the  American  hnes, 
instead  of  being  simply  a  point  to  be  touched. 


QUEENSTOWN. 

Cork  is  a  sleepy  city  of  perhaps  seventy  thousand  popula- 
tion, made  up  of  the  handsomest  men  and  most  beautiful 
women  and  children  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  You  shall  see 
more  feminine  beauty  on  the  streets  of  Cork  in  an  hour  than 
you  can  anywhere  else  in  a  week.  Homely  women  there  are 
none  —  beautiful  women  are  so  plenty  that  it  really  becomes 
monotonous.  One  rather  gets  to  wishing  that  he  could  see  an 
occasional  pair  of  English  feet,  for  the  sake  of  variety. 

The  city  itself  is  beautiful,  as  are  all  the  cities  of  Ireland  ; 
but  it  is  a  sad  city,  as  are  all  the  cities  of  Ireland.  It  is  not 
prosperous,  and  cannot  be,  for  it  is  under  English  domination, 
and  England  will  not  permit  prosperity  in  Ireland.  It  is  only 
the  attachment  which  an  Irishman  has  for  his  own  country 


372 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


that  makes  anybody  stay  there.  With  every  natural  advan- 
tage, with  every  facility  for  manufacturing,  for  trade  and 
commerce,  with  the  best  harbor  in  the  world,  and  the  nearest 
point  for  American  trade,  it  has  no  manufactures  to  speak  of, 
and  no  trade  whatever.  Its  population  has  decreased  thirty 
thousand  within  fifteen  years,  and  its  trade  is  slowly  but  surely 
dwindling  to  nothingness. 

The  river  Lea  is  a  wonderfully  beautiful  stream,  and  Cork, 
which  occupies  both  sides  of  it,  is  a  wonderfully  beautiful  city, 
and  would  be  an  enjoyable  city  but  for  the  feeling  of  sadness 
that  comes  to  an  American  the  moment  he  sees  the  empty 
warehouses,  the  empty  dwellings,  and  the  signs  of  decay  that 
are  everywhere. 

There  are  churches  everywhere,  and  churches  with  a  history. 
Here  is  the  church  of  Shandon,  of  whose  chimes  Father  Prout 
wrote  • 

"The  bells  of  Shandon 
That  sound  so  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters  of  the  river  Lea.' 

Here  is  climate,  soil,  situation  —  everything  to  make  a  great 
controlling  city ;  here  are  a  people  with  industry,  intelligence, 
brains,  and  all  the  requisites  to  make  a  great  controlling  city ; 
but,  despite  all  these  points  in  its  favor,  Cork  has  decreased 
year  by  year,  and  is  to-day  absolutely  nothing.  The  city  has 
lost  population  every  year ;  its  business  is  leaving  it,  its  ware- 
houses are  empty,  its  streets  are  deserted,  its  quays  are 
silent  —  it  is  nothing. 

What  is  the  reason  for  this?  It  is  all  summed  up  in  one 
word  —  landlordism.  There  is  no  man  in  the  world,  not 
excepting  the  Frenchman,  who  will  work  longer  or  harder 
than  the  Irishman.  There  is  no  race  of  men  who  are  better 
merchants  or  more  enterprising  dealers,  and  there  is  no  reason, 
but  one,  why  Cork  should  not  be  one  of  the  largest  and  richest 
cities  of  the  world.  That  reason  is,  English  ownership  of  Irish 
soil. 

Irish  landlordism  is  condensed  villainy.  It  is  the  very  top 
and  summit  of  oppression,  cruelty,  brutality  and  terror. 

It  was  conceived  in  lust  and  greed,  born  of  fraud,  and  per- 
petuated by  force. 


A   MILD    EXPRESSION    OF    OPINION.  373 

It  does  not  recognize  manhood,  womanhood  or  childhood. 
Its  cold  hand  is  upon  every  cradle  in  Ireland.  Its  victims  are 
the  five  millions  of  people  in  Ireland  who  cannot  get  away,  and 
the  instruments  used  to  hold  them  are  bayonets  and  ball  cart- 
ridges. 

It  is  a  ghoul  that  would  invade  grave-yards  were  there  any 
profit  to  be  gotten  out  of  grave-yards.  It  is  the  coldest- 
blooded,  cruelest  infamy  that  the  world  has  ever  seen,  and  that 
any  race  of  people  was  ever  fated  to  groan  under. 

Irish  landlordism  is  legal  brigandage  —  it  is  an  organized 
hell. 

Wesley  said  that  African  slavery  was  the  sum  of  all  villain- 
ies. Irish  landlordism  comprises  all  the  villainies  that  the 
devil  ever  invented,  with  African  slavery  thrown  in,  Irish 
landlordism  makes  African  slavery  a  virtue  by  comparison. 
For  when  a  negro  slave  got  too  old  to  work,  he  was  given 
some  place  in  which  to  live,  and  sufficient  food  to  keep  him  in 
some  sort  of  life,  and  clothes  enough  to  shield  him  from  the 
elements. 

The  Irish  tenant,  when  he  becomes  old  and  cannot  work,  is 
thrown  out  upon  the  roadside,  with  his  wife  and  his  children, 
to  die  and  rot.  He  has  created  lands  with  his  own  hands, 
which  he  is  not  allowed  to  occupy  ;  he  has  grown  crops  which 
he  is  not  allowed  to  eat ;  he  has  labored  as  no  other  man  in  the 
world  has  labored,  without  being  permitted  to  enjoy  the  fruits 
of  his  labor.  The  virtue  of  his  wife  and  daughter  are  in  the 
keeping  of  the  villain,  who  by  virtue  of  bayonets,  controls  his 
land.  In  short,  to  sum  it  all  up  in  one  word,  the  Irishman  is  a 
serf,  a  slave. 

In  a  country  that  makes  a  boast  of  its  freedom,  he  is  the 
suffering  victim  of  men  who  claim  to  be  Christians ;  he  is  the 
robbed,  outraged  sufferer  of  a  few  men  who  are  as  unfeeling  as 
the  bayonets  that  keep  him  down,  as  merciless  and  cruel  as 
tigers. 

From  the  above  feeble  utterances  my  readers  will,  I  hope, 
get  the  idea  that  I  do  not  like  Irish  landlordism.  I  hope  some 
day  to  get  sufficient  command  of  words  to  make  my  meaning 
apparent.  I  really  would  hke  to  make  it  understood  just  how 
I  feel  about  it. 


374 


NASBY    m    EXILE. 


To  see  Ireland  you  must  not  do  as  the  regular  tourist 
always  does,  follow  the  regular  routes  of  tourists'  travel.  You 
may  go  all  over  Ireland,  in  one  way,  and  you  will  not  see  a 
particle  of  suffering,  or  any  discontent.  At  Glengariff,  for 
instance,  the  most  charming  spot  on  the  earth,  3^ou  are  lodged 
in  as  fine  a  hotel  as  there  is  anywhere ;  the  people  are  all  well 
dressed  and  well  fed,  and  the  visitor  wonders  why  there  should 
be  any  discontent. 

This  is  a  part  of  the  English  Government's  policy.  On 
these  lines  of  travel,  which  the  tourist  for  pleasure  always 
takes,  the  misery  is  kept  out  of  sight,  and  the  mouths  of  the 
people  who  serve  you  are  sealed.  The  American  lady  trav- 
eling through  that  country  don't  like  to  see  naked  women  and 
squahd  poverty,  for  it  would  make  her  uncomfortable.  J^one  of 
it  is  shown  her,  and  she  wonders  at  the  discontent  of  the  Irish. 

But  just  take  a  boat  at  Glengariff,  leave  the  splendid  hotel, 
and  be  rowed  two  miles  across  the  bay,  and  you  begin  to  see 
Ireland,  the  real  Ireland.  You  then  know  why  Ireland  is 
agitated ;  you  then  see  the  real  reason  why  an  Englishman  is 
hated  with  an  intensity  that  would  find  expression  in  a  rifle 
shot,  if  rifles  were  permitted  to  be  owned  and  used. 

We  took  a  train  for  Fermoy,  a  distance  of  perhaps  fifty 
miles  from  Cork.  In  Fermoy,  a  tolerably  prosperous  village 
for  Ireland,  the  women  did  not  only  have  no  shoes  or  stockings, 
but  they  had  scarcely  anything  else  to  wear. 

"  This  is  nothing,"  said  the  wise  Mr.  Eedpath,  who  was 
with  us ;  "  these  people  are  fairly  prosperous  —  for  Ireland.  I 
shall  show  you  something  worth  while  before  night." 

It  puzzled  me  somewhat  to  understand  how  anybody  could 
be  worse  off  than  to  be  walking  in  cold  mud  without  any 
protection  whatever  for  the  feet,  but  I  found  it  at  Mitchells- 
town,  at  the  foot  of  the  Galtee  mountains. 

The  Irish  jaunting-car,  being  the  most  inconvenient  and 
detestable  vehicle  on  earth,  deserves  a  description.  It  should 
be  known  in  order  to  be  avoided.  A  jaunting-car  is  simply  a 
two -wheeled  vehicle  with  the  body  that  supports  the  seat 
reversed.  Instead  of  sitting  so  as  to  look  forward,  you  are 
on  the  side ;  the  seat  runs  the  wrong  way — which  is  character- 
istic of  almost  everything  in  Ireland.     The  driver  sits  looking 


THE    JAUNTING    GAB. 


\ro 


toward  the  horse,  the  passengers  sit  backing  each  other,  and 
the  concern  is  so  balanced  that  you  must  hold  on  a  rail  with  a 
death-grip,  or  be  flung  off  upon  the  road  by  every  jolt.     As 


AN  IRISH  WOMAN  AND  HER  DAUGHTER  ON  THE  ROAD  TO  CHURCH. 

detestable  as  it  is,  it  is  the  national  Irish  vehicle,  and  you  ride 
on  the  car,  or  go  afoot. 

On  one  of  these  atrocious  conveyances,  we  left  Mitchells- 
town  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  a  soaking  rain-storm. 


376 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


the  cold,  misty  drizzle  going  through  our  heavy  overcoats,  and 
almost  penetrating  tbe  very  marrow.  The  road  wound  along 
past  well  cultivated  fields,  over  picturesque  streams,  now  up 
gentle  declivities  that  gave  us,  or  would  have  given  us  had  the 
day  been  clear  and  fine,  an  admirable  view  of  the  valley  that 
lay  spread  at  the  foot  of  the  Galtee  Mountains.  But  on  that 
day  the  picture  was  not  a  cheering  one.  The  sun  refused  to 
shine,  the  rain  was  cold,  and  the  whole  prospect  Avas  bleak 
and  desolate.  Then  our  driver  was  a  loquacious  fellow,  who 
had  at  his  tongue's  end  hundreds  of  instances  of  the  oppression 
of  landlords  and  the  terrible  sufferings  of  the  poor,  evicted 
tenants.  He  talked  fast,  and,  his  whole  heart  being  in  the 
subject,  he  talked  well,  oftentimes  emphasizing  his  stories  by 
pointing  to  bare-footed,  bare-legged  and  bare-headed  women, 
who  went  trudging  along  the  cold,  wet  road,  with  no  protec- 
tion from  the  frightful  inclemency  of  the  weather  but  a  light 
shawl  thrown  over  the  ragged  dress  that  scarcely  covered  their 
bodies.  These  women,  whom  he  pointed  out  as  evicted  tenants, 
were  not  the  rough,  degraded-looking  beggars  that  are  com- 
monly supposed  to  overrun  Ireland,  and  make  the  tourist's  life 
one  of  continual  annoyance.  They  were  bright,  intelligent 
and  handsome,  and,  notwithstanding  the  horrors  of  their 
situation,  comparatively  cheerful.  But  it  was  an  unnatural 
cheerfulness,  for  it  was  noticeable  that  there  were  lines  about 
the  mouth  and  around  the  eyes  that  told  only  too  plainly  their 
story  of  want  and.  suffering. 

Even  with  these  hving  evidences,  we  could  hardly  believe 
the  stories  of  cruelties  committed  by  the  landlords  and  their 
agents,  which  our  driver  kept  pouring  into  our  ears.  We  could 
not  reahze  that  they  could  be  true.  They  seemed  so  absolutely 
barbarous  that  we  utterly  refused  to  accept  them,  and  did  not, 
till,  having  gone  about  nine  miles  from  Mitchellstown,  we 
stopped  at  a  little  roadside  cabin,  as  they  called  it,  although  we 
would  have  more  properly  denominated  it  a  hovel. 

At  the  invitation  of  our  guide  we  alighted,  shook  the  rain 
off  from  our  great  coats,  and  entered  the  place  to  inquire  for 
Michael  Duggan,  who  worked  the  little  holding  back  of  it. 
He  was  not  at  home,  but  his  wife,  a  comely,  buxom  woman  of 
about  forty  years,  asked  us  to  be  seated,  at  the  same  time 


ME.  DUGGAN  S  FAMILY. 


377 


offering  a  small  stool  on  which  one  of  the  girls  of  the  family- 
had  been  sitting  near  the  fire,  taking  care  of  an  infant. 

While  our  guide  was  inquiring  for  Mr.  Duggan,  we  made 
an  inspection  of  the  house,  where  a  man,  his  wife- and  seven 
children  lived.  There  was  the  one  principal  room  in  which  w© 
were  standing,  which  was  about  ten  by  twelve  feet,  and  eight 
feet  high.  There  was  no  floor,  except  the  original  earth. 
There  was  only  one  opening  for  a  window,  and  that  had  never 
known  a  pane  of  glass.  In  one  end  of  the  room  there  was  a 
dingy,  smoky  fireplace,  around  which  were  huddled  three  or 


A  COUNTY  CORK  CABIN. 

four  children,  scantily  dressed  in  loose  cotton  slips  that  came 
to  just  below  the  knee.  At  the  other  end  of  the  room  a  brood 
of  chickens  disported  themselves  in  a  pile  of  furze,  while  every 
few  minutes  a  huge  porker  would  push  his  nose  in  at  the  open 
door,  only  to  be  driven  away  by  one  of  the  children. 

The  family  was  very  interesting.  The  mother  was  tall, 
well  formed,  and  of  an  exceedingly  pleasant  appearance,  while 
the  children,  shy  at  the  sight  of  so  many  strangers,  were 
sturdy,  healthful  and  clean.  They  were  bright  and  intelligent, 
and  under  any  other  circumstances  and  mode  of  life  would 
grow  up  to  be  eminently  representative  citizens. 

On  the  return  of  Mr.  Duggan  from  the  fields,  we  went 
with  him  up  the  Galtee  Mountains,  he  explaining  on  the  way 


378 


NASBY    m    EXILE. 


that  he  was  very  comfortably  fixed  compared  with  his  neigh- 
bors. He  said  that  his  grandfather  had  taken  the  Httle 
holding  he  occupied,  when  it  was  full  of  stones  and  rocks, 
and  was  next  to  worthless.  He  paid  a  rent  of  three  shilhngs 
an  acre  for  it.  During  his  lifetime  the  land  was  partially 
reclaimed,  the  rocks  and   boulders  were  taken  out  of  a  part 


INTERIOR  OF  A  BETTER  CLASS  CABIN,  COUNTY  CORK. 

of  one  field,  and  the  rent  was  advanced  to  seven  shillings. 
His  father  further  improved  it  and  raised  some  little  crops, 
and  the  rent  went  up  to  twenty  shillings.  When  the  present 
tenant  succeeded  to  it,  it  was  in  comparatively  good  shape,  and 
with  the  improvements  he  had  made,  building  the  house,  or 
rather  hovel,  the  value  of  the  land  had  increased  enough  in 
the  mind  of  the  landlord  to  justify  him  in  placing  the  rent  at 
two  pounds. 

That  tract  of  land  in  America,  if  one  were  to  go  to  the  few 
districts  where  such  abominably  bad  land  can  be  found,  would 


THE  ALTERNATIVE. 


379 


be  thought  extremely  high  if  it  were  sold  at  a  dollar,  or  four 
shillings  an  acre. 

"  Well,  how  in  the  world  can  you  raise  enough  on  such  a 
holding  to  pay  such  an  exorbitant  rent  ? " 


ROYAL  IRISH  CONSTABULARY. 

"I  can't  do  it.     I've  tried  my  best,  but  it  is  absolutely 
impossible." 

^'Suppose  you  don't  pay  the  rent,  then  what?" 


380 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


"  I'll  be  thrown  out  in  the  road,  with  my  family  and  the 
little  furniture  we  have  gotten  together," 

"In  case  you  refuse  to  be  thrown  out  of  the  house  you 
have  built,  and  off  the  land  you  and  your  fathers  before  you 
made  from  utterly  worthless  fields  of  rocks  ? " 

''  Then  those  fellows  would  come  down  upon  me." 

As  he  spoke  he  pointed  to  a  flying  squadron  of  a  hundred 
and  fifty  men,  who  were  riding  back  to  Mitchellstown  after 
having  evicted  a  number  of  tenants  who  had  been  unable  to 


INTERIOR  OF  A  CABIN  IN  KILLALEEN. 

pay  the  back  rent.  They  were  a  fine  looking  body  of  men, 
well  mounted  and  weU  armed,  each  one  carrying  a  loaded 
carbine,  while  at  his  side  was  dangling  a  sword  bayonet. 

But  our  business  in  hand  was  not  speculating  upon  results  so 
much  as  to  see  the  actual  conditions  that  led  to  and  still  sus- 
tains the  agitation.  So  we  plodded  on,  through  the  drenching 
rain  that  was  coming  down  in  torrents,  up  the  bleak  and  deso- 
late hill  side. 

Along  the  side  of  the  road  were  high  stone  fences,  from 
four  to  seven  feet  wide  at  the  top,  rather  good  fences  for  so 
poor  a  country. 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Duggan  in  reply  to  an  inquiry  as 
to  how  they  found  time  to  make  such  solid  substantial  fences, 
''  those  stones  were  every  one  taken  from  that  field  there,  and 
having  no  other  place  to  put  them  we  made  a  fence,  and  our 
rent  was  raised  on  us  for  doing  it,  worse  the  luck." 


ANOTHER    CABIN. 


381 


We  looked  into  the  field  whence  these  stones  were  taken. 
It  was  as  uninviting  a  piece  of  ground  as  can  be  imagined, 
still  full  of  huge  boulders,  rocks,  weeds  and  the  never-dying 
heather.  It  was  not  capable  of  supporting  a  sparrow,  yet  for 
the  slight  improve- 
ment that  had  been  \i  iiiJf'-^-i~''^'''''^'\\. 
made,  the   rent   had          '    '      ^^*^^       -~^--i--' 

been  raised.  Great 
inducement  that  for 
a  man  to  work ! 

Seeing  a  little 
low,  thatched  cabin 
just  off  the  road,  we 
asked  in  all  simplic- 
ity, if  it  had  any  his- 
tory, for  by  this 
time  it  was  begin- 
ning to  dawn  upon 
us  that  almost  every- 
thing in  that  vicinity 
had  some  story  con- 
nected with  it.  But 
we  were  totally  un- 
prepared for  the 
reply. 


"No,   there's    no 


A  QUIVER  FULL. 

history  about  it.     It 

is  simply  the  dwelling  place  of  a  family  of  people  who  are 
daily  expecting  to  be  evicted  because  they  can't  pay  the  rent, 
the  father  having  been  unable,  through  sickness,  to  work  all  of 
the  season." 

The  idea  that  human  beings,  made  in  God's  image,  having 
the  power  to  think,  to  reason  and  to  act,  could  live,  even  exist, 
in  such  a  hovel  as  that  w^as  so  incredible  that  we  insisted 
upon  going  over  and  seeing  how  it  was  done. 

Wading  through  mud  and  slush  coming  over  our  shoe-tops, 
we  bent  our  heads  and  entered.  The  room,  if  so  it  could,  by  a 
stretch  of  the  imagination,  be  called,  was  so  low  that  we  could 
not  stand  erect.     The  cold  bare  earth  that  constituted  the  floor 


^^2  NASBY  IN    EXILE. 

was  damp  and  slippery  as  the  rain  came  trickling  down 
through  the  broken  thatch  and  formed  little  pools  on  the 
ground.  I^ear  a  suggestion  of  a  fire,  were  huddled  a  woman 
and  four  children,  the  eldest  not  more  than  eight  years  of  age. 
As  we  entered  they  all  arose.  We  were  horrified  to  see  that 
they  were  as  usual  without  stockings  or  shoes,  and  their  cloth- 
ing was  so  torn  and  ragged  that  it  afforded  no  warmth  what- 
ever. The  mother  and  her  little  girls  were  blue  with  cold- 
Their  features  were  pinched  with  hunger.  Their  whole 
appearance  indicated  the  want  and  suffering  they  had  been 
patiently  enduring  for  years. 

Over  in  one  corner  of  the  room  was  what  they  called  a  bed. 
It  consisted  of  four  posts  driven  into  the  ground.  On  stringers 
were  laid  a  few^  rough  boards;  on  these  boards  were  dried 
leaves  and  heather,  covered  by  a  few  old  potato  sacks.  There 
w^as  where  this  family  of  six  persons  slept.  There  was  no  win- 
dow in  the  house,  the  only  light  and  ventilation  being  furnished 
by  the  door  and  the  cracks  in  the  thatched  roof. 

It  was  too  horrible  and  we  went  out  again  into  the  rain  — 
there  we  could  at  least  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  We  asked 
our  guide  how^  these  people  managed  to  keep  the  breath  of  life 
in  them.  He  said  they  lived  as  their  neighbors  did,  on  pota- 
toes and  "  stirabout." 

"What  is  'stirabout'?" 

"  It  is  a  sort  of  a  mush  made  of  Indian  meal  and  skimmed 
milk.  They  have  that  occasionally,  for  a  little  luxury,  or 
when  the  potatoes  are  so  scarce  that  they  think  they  must 
husband  them." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  these  people  actually  five  on 
that  fare?  that  they  have  nothing  else?  They  at  least  have 
meat  with  their  potatoes  ? " 

"  God  bless  you,  sir,"  and  the  honest  man's  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  "they  never  know  the  taste  of  meat.  There  has  not 
been  a  bit  of  meat  in  my  house  since  last  Christmas,  when  we 
were  fortunate  enough  to  get  a  bit  of  pig's  head.  But  up  here 
they  don't  even  have  that." 

Surely  this  must  have  been  an  exceptional  case.  It  was 
unpossible  that  even  in  that  country  there  could  be  more  than 
one  or  two  instances  of  such  utter  and  abject  woe  and  misery. 


A  TEKKIBLE  SEVEN  HOURS.  383 

But  Mr.  Duggan  told  us  to  the  contrary.  He  said  that  the 
house  we  had  just  left  was  only  a  fair  sample  of  what  was  to 
be  seen  all  over  the  Galtee  Mountains.  To  be  convinced,  w6 
trudged  painfully  through  the  rain  for  seven  long  hours. 

We  toiled  thro%h  fields  that  in  America  would  not  be 
accepted  as  a  gift.  Here,  if  the  exorbitant  rent  charged  for 
them  could  not  be  paid,  the  holders  were  evicted.  We  went 
through  roads  so  wretchedly  bad  that  teams  could  not  travel 
over  them.  Yet  taxes  had  to  be  paid  by  those  who  had  hold- 
ings on  either  side.  We  saw  fields  that  had  been  reclaimed 
from  the  original  state,  had  been  made  productive,  and  had 
been  the  cause  of  the  eviction  of  the  holder  because  he  could 
not  pay  the  rent  which  the  improvements  brought  upon  him. 
He  had  been  thrown  off  the  land  and  it  was  rapidly  going  to 
waste  again.  Large  patches  of  heather,  which  is  worse  than 
the  American  farmer's  bane,  the  Canada  thistle,  were  growing 
over  it,  choking  all  other  forms  of  vegetation.  It  would  only 
take  another  season  to  make  the  land  so  worthless  that  three 
years  of  hard  work  would  be  required  to  put  it  back  to  the 
condition  it  was  in  when  the  holder  had  been  compelled  to 
leave  it,  after  having  devoted  the  best  years  of  his  life  to 
reclaiming  and  making  it  productive. 

After  seven  hours  of  such  sights  as  these,  which  cannot  be 
described,  we  were  wet,  weary  and  mad.  We  had  seen  enough 
for  one  day,  and  were  ready  to  go  back.  All  during  the  long 
drive  to  Mitchellstown  not  a  word  was  said.  The  subject  was 
too  terrible  to  discuss. 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 


BANTRY. 

The  village  of  Bantry,  in  County  Cork,  some  forty  miles 
from  Cork,  is  owned  and  controlled  by  My  Lord  Bantry,  who 
is,  or,  at  least,  ought  to  be,  one  of  the  richest  men  in  Ireland. 
Whether  he  is  or  not  depends  entirely  upon  how  expensively 
he  lives  in  Paris,  and  how  much  extravagance  he  commits 
there  and  in  London.  He  certainly  screws  enough  money  out 
of  the  unfortunates  born  upon  the  land  stolen  from  them  by 
English  Kings  and  given  to  him,  to  make  him  a  richer  man 


A  STREET  IN  AN  IRISH  VILLAGE. 

than  Rothschild,  if  he  has  taken  care  of  it.  But  I  don't  sup- 
pose he  has.  Probably  the  magnificent  estate,  robbed  from 
the  people,  is  mortgaged  to  its  full  value,  and  he  supports  him- 
self by  keeping  his  so-called  tenants  down  to  a  point,  in  food, 
shelter,  and  clothes,  that  a  Camanche  Indian  would  turn  up  his 
nose  at.  Indeed,  were  the  most  degraded  Piute  compelled  to 
accept  life  on  the  terms  that  My  Lord  Bantry  imposes  upon 
the  men  he  robs,  he  would  paint  his  face,  sing  his  death  song, 
go  out  and  kill  somebody,  and  die  with  great  pleasure. 

(384) 


BANTRY    VILLAGE. 


385 


Bantry  is  a  pleasant  village ;  that  is,  some  of  its  streets  are 
pleasant,  and  it  has  the  most  beautiful  bay  on  the  coast.  Sail- 
ing across  the  most  lovely  body  of  water  I  have  ever  seen,  is 
the  famous  watering  place,  Glengariff,  which  is  the  most  deli- 
cious spot  of  land  in  the  world.     And  Bantry  itself  has  much 

in  its  favor,  all  -^        _ 

marred  by   the  ^^^^  ^-_ 

abject    poverty  __^^^g7  ^^^-^r^, 

of  nine-tenths  of 
its  inhabitants. 
Leaving  the 
main  street, 
which  is,  like  all 
the  streets  of 
Irish  villages, 
made  up  of 
small  stores,  or 
shops,  as  they 
are  called,  you 
walk  up  a  rath- 
er steep  hill, 
pass  through  a 
crooked  street, 
and  you  find 
yourself  in  the 
midst  of  the 
regulation  Irish 


cabins. 

Miserable 

structures  of  stones  piled  one  upon  the  other,  not  even  daubed 
with  plaster,  with  no  windows,  as  a  rule,  though  the  more 
pretentious  ones  have  a  single  pane  of  glass  in  the  wall  some- 
where. However,  as  that  pane  is  almost  invariably  broken, 
its  principal  use  is  the  extra  ventilation  it  affords. 

The  cabin  is  the  same  size  as  those  on  farms,  say  from  ten 
to  twelve  feet  wide  by  fifteen  or  sixteen  in  length.  In  the 
country,  however,  they  do  have  the  space  above,  to  the 
thatched  roof,  but  land  is  more  valuable  in  the  villages,  and 
My  Lord  Bantry's  expenses  in  London  and  Paris  are  enormous. 
25 


BLARNEY  CASILE. 


386  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

He  must  get  more  money  out  of  the  villagers,  and  he  makes 
two  stories  out  of  the  Avretched  hovel,  and  by  crowding  in  two 
families  makes  double  rent.  The  first  floor  is  not  above  five 
feet  six  inches  in  height,  and  the  upper  is  a  good  foot  shorter. 
In  neither  floor  can  an  ordinary  man  stand  upright. 

We  went  up  the  miserable  stairs  in  one  of  them,  and  gained 
the  still  more  miserable  den  above.  It  was  more  like  a  coffin 
than  a  room,  and  the  idea  of  a  coffin  was  brought  forcibly  to 
the  mind  as  you  glanced  at  the  wretched  occupants.  On  a 
miserable  bed  of  dried  leaves,  covered  with  potato  sacks  on 
the  one  side,  was  the  emaciated  form  of  a  man  dying  of 
starvation  and  consumption.  He  had  about  forty-eight  hours 
of  life  in  him.  Upon  my  word  I  felt  happy  to  see  he  was 
so  near  death.  For  having  an  excellent  reputation,  having 
always  been  a  good  man,  he  is  certain  to  go,  after  death, 
where  there  would  not  be  the  slightest  possible  chance  of 
meeting  My  Lord  Bantry  or  his  agent.  In  the  other  corner 
was  a  flat  stone,  upon  which  a  consumptive  fire  of  peat  was 
burning,  the  smoive  filling  the  room.  Huddled  around  this 
fire  were  five  children,  under  the  watchful  eye  of  a  very 
comely  woman.  The  children  were  barefooted  and  stocking- 
less,  and  clad  in  the  most  deplorable  rags,  while  the  mother, 
also  bare  footed,  was  clothed  in  the  regular  cotton  slip, 
without  a  particle  of  underclothing  of  any  kind  or  descrip- 
tion. And  into  that  garret,  poor  as  it  was,  came  other 
women,  not  clothed  sufficiently  to  be  decent,  to  boil  their 
potatoes  at  the  wretched  fire.  They  have  a  practice  of 
exchanging  fires  in  this  way,  that  none  shall  be  wasted. 

''  What  do  you  pay  for  this  apartment  ? " 

"  Ten-pence  a  week,  sor ! " 

"  Are  you  in  arrears  for  rent  ? " 

"  Yis  sor.  He  (pointing  to  her  husband)  has  been  sick,  sor, 
for  months,  sor,  and  cud  not  worruk." 

"  What  will  you  do  if  he  dies  ? " 

"  We  shall  be  put  out,  sor." 

This  with  no  burst  of  anguish,  with  no  special  tone  of 
anger  or  manifestation  of  emotion.  To  be  "  put  out "  is  the 
common  lot  of  the  Irish  laborer,  and  Irish  wife,  and  they 
expect  it. 


HOW    IklY    LORD   BANTEY    LIVES. 


3S7 


And  withia  a  mile  of  that  wretched  spot,  of  that  dying 
man  and  starving  children,  My^  Lord  Ban  try  has  a  most 
beautiful   castle,  luxurious    furniture,   filled    with    pampered 


flunkies,  his  stable  crowded  with  tlie  most  wonderful  horses, 
and  his  table  groaning  under  the  weight  of  the  luxuries  of 
every  clime 


388  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Surely,  not  for  ten  pence  a  week  will  he  tear  this  woman 
from  the  side  of  her  dead  husband,  and  throw  her,  with  her 
helpless  children,  out  into  the  cold  and  wet  street  ? 

Yes,  but  he  will,  though ! 

For  this  family  is  but  one  of  many  thousands  on  the  land 
which  a  bad  King  stole  from  the  people  who  owned  it.  Were 
this  the  only  case  he  might  relent ;  but  should  he  do  it  in  this 
case  he  would  have  to  do  it  for  others,  and  ten  pence  a  week 
from  thousands  aggregates  a  very  large  sum,  and  My  Lord 
Bantry's  expenses  are  very  high,  for  it  costs  money  to  run  a 
castle,  and  there  is  his  house  in  London,  his  house  in  Paris,  and 
his  house  in  Rome,  and  his  houses  the  Lord  knows  where  ;  and 
then  his  yacht  is  rather  expensive,  as  his  oificers  and  men  must 
be  paid,  to  say  nothing  of  the  larder  and  wines  necessary  to 
entertain  his  friends ;  and  then  there  is  the  terrible  expense  of 
entertaining  his  friends  from  London  during  the  shooting  sea- 
son, and  occasional  losses  at  play,  and  all  that. 

Clearly,  the  Widow  Flanagan  must  either  pay  her  rent  or 
be  pitched  out  into  the  street  to  make  room  for  some  other 
widow  who  can  pay,  for  a  while  at  least,  and  when  she  can't 
pay  there  are  others  who  can. 

It  is  needless  to  add  that  there  is  in  Bantry  Bay  a  splendid 
English  gunboat  armed  as  in  time  of  war,  with  burnished 
guns,  with  bombs  of  all  sort  of  explosive  power,  rifled  guns, 
which,  would  knock  poor  Bantry  into  a  cocked  hat  in  ten  min- 
utes, with  fine  looking  marines,  armed  to  the  teeth,  which,  with 
the  military  on  shore,  w^ould  make  it  very  warm  for  the  widow 
Flanagan  and  her  friends,  should  they  presume  to  interfere 
with  My  Lord's  land  agent,  and  the  bailiffs  and  the  soldiers 
behind  them.  The  widow  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  bow  her 
head  and  submit,  and  pray  that  some  relief  may  come  to  her 
from  somewhere.  But  where  is  it  to  come  from  ?  ISTot  from 
My  Lord,  for,  as  I  said,  he  has  his  private  expenses  to  meet ; 
not  from  his  agent,  for  he  was  selected  for  his  especial  fond- 
ness for  pitching  women  and  children  into  the  street ;  not  from 
England,  for  England  looks  upon  every  country  it  has  any- 
thing to  do  with  as  either  to  be  plundered  or  traded  with  ;  not 
from  the  peasantry  about  them,  for  they  are  in  the  same  boat 
with  the  widow. 


A    LITTLK    TATHOS. 


389 


What  becomes  of  her  finally,  I  don't  know.  I  am  alto- 
gether too  soft-hearted  to  stay  any  length  of  time  where  such 
things  are  to  be  seen  every  hour. 

A  pathetic  little  scene  took  place  in  the  widow's  loft,  which 
illustrates  something  of  Irish  character.  As  I  said  the  husband 
and  father  was  lying  upon  his  wretched  pallet,  dying  of  con- 
sumption. The 
youngest  but  one 
of  the  children 
was  the  most  beau- 
tiful child  I  have 
ever  seen,  a  sweet 


little  fairy,  with 
long  curly,  blonde 
hair  and  black 
eyes,  built  from 
the  ground  up, 
and  with  a  face 
that  a  painter 
would  walk  miles 
to  sketch.  She 
was  a  delicious  lit- 
tle dream,  a  dainty 
bit  of  humanity. 
True,  she  had  2 
nothing  but  rags  ^^ 
upon  her  delight- 
ful little  figure, 
and   true  it  was  in  a  bog  village. 

that  her  sweet  little  face  was  smeared  with  dirt,  and  her  little 
hands  were  as  grimy  as  grimy  could  be,  and  her  little  shapely 
bare  legs  were  very  red  and  somewhat  pimply.  '  But  why 
not  ?  Clothes  cannot  be  had  for  the  children  when  the  father 
works  for  ten  pence  a  day  and  is  sick  half  the  time,  and  nickel- 
plated  bath-tubs  and  scented  soap  are  not  to  be  expected  in  the 
top  of  a  cabin  in  which  you  cannot  stand  upright;  and  how 
can  a  child's  face  be  kept  clean  where  there  is  no  chimney,  and 
where  the  room  is  so  thick  with  peat  smoke  that  you  may 
almost  cut  it  with  a  knife,  and  a  child  that  never  had  a  pair  of 


390  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

shoes  and  stockings  could  hardly  h6  expected  to  have  white 
legs  and  feet.     The  cold  prevents  that. 

In  our  party  was  an  American  gentleman,  who  was  blessed 
with  an  abundance  of  boys,  but  no  girls,  and  he  and  his  wife 
had  been  contemplating  the  adoption  of  a  girl.  Here  was  an 
^opportunity  to  secure  not  only  a  girl,  but  just  the  kind  of  a 
girl  that  he  would  have  given  half  his  estate  to  be  the  father 
of.     And  so  he  opened  negotiations. 

An  Irishman  who  knew  him,  explained  to  the  father  and 
mother  that  the  gentleman  was  a  man  of  means,  that  his  wife 
was  an  excellent,  good  woman,  and  that  the  child  would  be 
adopted  regularly  under  the  laws  of  the  State  in  which  he 
lived,  and  would  be  educated,  and  would  rank  equally  with  his 
own  children  in  the  matter  of  inheritance,  and  all  that.  In 
short,  ]^orah  would  be  reared  a  lady. 

Then  the  American  struck  in.  She,  the  mother,  might 
select  a  girl  to  accompany  the  child  across  the  Atlantic,  and 
the  girl  selected  should  go  into  his  family  as  the  child's  nurse, 
and  the  child  should  be  reared  in  the  religion  of  its  parents. 

The  father  and  mother  consulted  long  and  anxiously.  It 
was  a  terrible  struggle.  On  the  one  hand  was  the  child's 
advantage ;  on  the  other,  paternal  and  maternal  love. 

Finally  a  conclusion  was  arrived  at. 

"  God  help  me,"  said  the  mother,  "  you  shall  have  her.  I 
know  you  will  be  good  to  her." 

Then  the  arrangements  were  pushed  very  briskly,  and,  with 
regular  American  business-like  vehemence.  The  girl  selected 
to  act  as  nurse  was  the  mother's  sister,  a  comely  girl  of  twenty. 
The  American  took  the  child,  and  rushed  out.  to  the  haber- 
dasher's, and  purchased  an  outfit  for  her.  He  put  shoes  and 
stockings  on  her,  which  was  a  novel  experience,  and  a  pretty 
little  dress,  and  a  little  hat  with  a  feather  in  it,  and  a  little 
sash,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  and  he  procured  shoes  and 
stockings  for  the  elder  girl,  and  a  tidy  dress,  and  a  hat  and 
shawl,  and  so  forth.  And  then  he  brought  them  back,  instruct- 
ing the  mother  that  he  should  leave  with  them  for  Cork  the 
next  morning  at  eleven,  and  that  the  girl  and  the  child  should 
be  dressed  and  ready  to  depart. 

The  next  morning  came,  and  the  American  went  for  his 


A   MOTHER'S.  LOTE. 


391 


child.  She  was  dressed,  trhough  very  awkwardly  The  mother 
had  never  had  any  experience  in  dressing  children,  and  it  was 
a  wonder  that  she  did  not  get  the  dress  wrong  side  up.  But 
there  she  was,  and  the  mother  wailed  as  one  who  was  parting 
with  everytliing  that  was  dear  to  her,  and  the  father  lay  and 
moaned,  looking  from  i^orah  to  the  American.  Time  was  up. 
The  mother  took  the  baby  in  her  arms,  and  gave  it  the  final 
embrace,  and  the  long,  loving  kiss ;  the  father  took  her  in  his 


**  DROP  THE  CHILD  I  " 

arms,  and  kissed  her  ;  the  other  children  looked  on  astounded, 
while  the  girl  stood  weeping. 

"  Good-bye ! "  said  the  American ;  "  I  will  take  good  care  of 
the  baby,"  and,  taking  her  from  the  mother's  arms,  he  started 
for  the  door.  There  was  a  shriek—  the  woman  darted  to  him 
just  as  he  was  closing  the  door,  and  snatched  the  baby  from  him. 

''Drop  the  child !  "  said  the  father.  "  You  can't  have  her 
for  all  the  money  there  is  in  Ameriky." 


392  NASRY    IN    EXILE. 

"No,  sor!"  ejaculated  the  mother,  half  way  between  faint- 
ing and  hysterics.     "  I  can't  part  wid  her ! '' 

And  she  commenced  undressing  the  baby. 

"Take  back  yer  beautiful  clothes  —  give  me  back  the  rags 
that  was  on  her  —  but  ye  can't  have  the  child  !  " 

And  the  girl  —  she  commenced  undressing,  too ;  for  she 
did  not  want  to  obtain  clothes  under  false  pretenses.  But  the 
American  stopped  the  disrobing. 

"  It's  bad  for  the  child,"  he  said,  "  but  somehow  I  can't 
blame  you.     You  are  welcome  to  the  clothes,  though." 

A,nd  he  left  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  I  noticed  he  was  busy 
Avith  his  handkerchief  about  his  eyes  for  some  minutes.  And 
I  am  sorry  to  say  he  indulged  in  a  very  profane  soliloquy, "till 
he  got  out  of  the  street,  and  his  objurgations  were  not  leveled 
at  the  father  and  mother. 

What  became  of  the  clothes  I  know  not,  but  I  presume 
that,  when  the  husband  died  and  went  where  landlords  cease 
from  troubling  and  the  weary  are  at  rest,  the  widow  pawned 
them  to  pay  the  rent,  and  save  the  dead  body  of  her  husband 
from  being  pitched  into  the  street  with  herself  and  children ; 
and  that  when  My  Lord  Bantry  saw  her  name  on  the  list,  as 
paid,  he  remarked : 

"Ah!  the  Widow  Flanagan  has  paid  her  rent.  I  thought 
she  would  !  What  is  necessary  with  these  Irish,  is  to  be  firm 
with  them.     By  the  way,  is  she  paying  enough  ? " 

And  after  ascertaining  that  the  wine  had  been  properly 
frajpjped^  he  went  to  his  dinner,  and  the  gunboat,  and  the  royal 
constabulary  felt  relieved. 

It  is  a  pleasant  thing  for  all  concerned  to  have  the  Widow 
Flanagan  pay  her  rent  promptly,  and  make  no  fuss  about  it, 
except,  of  course,  for  the  Widow  Flanagan.  But  she,  being 
an  Irish  widow,  is  not  to  be  considered.  But  if  there  is  a  God 
of  justice  and  mercy,  there  will  come  a  time  w^hen  she  will  be 
considered,  and  then  it  Avill  be  made  very  warm  for  My  Lord 
Bantry,  his  agent,  the  captain  of  the  gunboat,  the  officers  of 
the  soldiery,  and  the  whole  brood  of  oppressors.  There  is  a 
Court  at  which  the  Widow  Flanagan  can  appear  on  equal 
terms  with  her  landlord,  but  it  is  not  in  Ireland. 

If  I  ever  leaned  toward  the  doctrines  taught  by  the  Univer- 


A    EELIGIOUS    OPINION. 


393 


salists,  a  contemplation  of  the  system  of  Bantryism  has  entirely 
and  completely  convinced   me  that   they   are   erroneous.     If 


NATURE'S  LOOKING  GLASS. 


there  is  not  a  lake  of  fire  and  brimstone,  a  very  wide  and  very 
deep,  and   very   hot   one  there   ought   to   be,  and  when   the 


394: 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


British  House  of  Lords  meet  there,  there  will  always  be  a  quo- 
rum. And  My  Lord  wiU  lift  up  his  eyes  to  the  widow  Flana- 
gan and  beg  for  a  drop  of  water  to  cool  his  parched  tongue. 
But  he  won't  get  it.     He  don't  deserve  it. 

It  is  impossible  to  make  an  American  comprehend  the 
width,  depth  and  breadth  of  Irish  misery  until  he  has  seen  it 
with  his  own  eyes.  No  other  man's  eyes  are  good  for  any- 
thing in  this  matter,  for  the  reason  that  nothing  parallel  exists 
this  side  of  the  water.  And  besides  this  the  writers  for  the 
stage  and  of  general  literature  have  most  woefully  misrepre- 
sented the  Irish 


man 


and 


woman. 


and  very  much  to 
his  and  her  disad- 
vantage. 

The  Irishman  of 
the  stage  and  novel 
is  always  a  roUick- 
ing,happy-go-lucky 
sort  of  a  reckless 
f elloWjWith  a  short- 
tailed  coat,  red  vest 
and  corduroy  trow- 
sers,  woolen  stock- 
ings and  stout  bro- 
gans ;  with  a  bottle 
of  whisky  peeping 
out  of   his  pocket, 

THE  IRISHMAN  OF  THE  STAGE  AND  NOVEL.  a  blacktllOm  shille- 

lah  in  his  fist ;  always  ready  for  a  dance,  or  a  fight,  or  for  love- 
making,  or  any  other  pleasant  employment.  There  is  always 
on  his  head  a  rather  bad  hat,  worn  jauntily,  however,  and 
though  he  may  be  occasionally  rather  short  of  food,  he  man- 
ages always  to  get  enough  to  be  fat,  sleek,  and  rosy.  And  then 
he  always  has  a  laugh  on  his  face,  a  joke  on  his  lips,  and  he 
goes  through  life  with  a  perpetual  "  Hurroo." 

And  Katy  — she  is  always  presented  to  us  clad  in  a  short 
woolen  gown,  her  shapely  legs  enclosed  in  warm  red  stock- 
ings ;  and  she  had  a  bright  red  handkerchief  about  her  neck. 


THE    KEAL    AND    THE    IDEAL. 


395 


with  good,  comfortable  shoes,  and  a  coquettish  straw  hat  —  a 
buxom  girl,  who  can  dance  down  any  lad  within  ten  miles,  and 
can  "  hurroo  "  as  well  as  Pat,  and  a  little  better. 

The  Irish  priest  is  always  represented  to  us  as  a  fat,  sleek, 
jolly  fellow,  who  is  constantly  giving  his  people  good  advice 
but  who  nevertheless  is  always  ready  to  sing  ''The  Cruiskeen 
Lawn,"  in  a  "  rich,  mellow  voice,"  before  a  splendid  fire  in  the 
house  of  his  parishioners,  with  a  glass  of  poteen  in  one  hand 
and  a  pipe  in  the  other,  the  company  joining  jollily  in  the  cho- 
rus. He  is  supposed 
to  live  in  luxury  from 
the  superstition  of  his 
people,  and  to  have 
about  as  rosy  a  life 
as  any  man  on  earth. 

All  these  are  lies. 

The  Irishman  is 
the  saddest  man  on 
the  surface  of  the 
globe.  You  may 
travel  a  week  and 
never  see  a  smile  or 
hear  a  laugh.  Utter 
and  abject  misery, 
starvation  and  help- 
lessness, are  not  con- 
ducive of  merriment.  the  evicted  irishman. 

The  Irishman  has  not  only  no  short-tailed  coat,  but  he  con- 
siders himself  fortunate  if  he  has  any  coat  at  all.  He  has  what 
by  courtesy  may  be  called  trowsers,  but  the  vest  is  a  myth. 
He  has  no  comfortable  woolen  stockings,  nor  is  he  possessed  of 
the  regulation  stage  shoes.  He  does  not  sing,  dance  or  laugh, 
for  he  has  no  place  to  sing,  laugh  and  dance  in.  He  is  a  mov- 
ing pyramid  of  rags.  A  man  who  cuts  bog  all  day  from  day- 
light to  dark,  whose  diet  consists  of  a  few  potatoes  twice  a  day, 
is  not  much  in  the  humor  for  dancing  all  night,  even  were 
there  a  place  for  him  to  dance  in.  And  as  for  jollity,  a  man 
with  a  land  agent  watching  him  like  a  hawk  to  see  how  much 
he  is  improving  his  land,  with  the  charitable  intent  of  raising 


396 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


the  rent,  if  by  any  possibility  he  can  screw  more  out  of  him,  is  not 
in  the  mood  to  laugh,  sing,  dance  or  "hurroo."  One  might  as 
well  think  of  laughing  at  a  funeraL  Ireland  is  one  perpetual 
'funeral.     The  ghastly  procession  is  constantly  passing. 

There  is  unquestionably  a  vast  fund  of  humor  in  the  Irish- 
man, which  would  be  delightful  could  it  have  proper  vent. 
You  hear  faint  tones  of  it,  as  it  is ;  but  it  is  in  the  minor  key, 
and  very  sad.  It  always  has  a  flavor  of  rack-rent  in  it,  a 
taste  of  starvation,  a   suggestion  of   eviction  and   death,   by 

^  cold  and  hunger,  on 
the  road-side.  It  isn't 
cheerful.  I  had  much 
rather  have  the  Irish- 
man silent,  than  to 
hear  this  remnant  of 
jocularity  which  is 
always  streaked  with 
blood. 

The  Irish  girl  is 
always  comely,  and, 
properly  clothed  and 
fed,  would  be  beauti- 
ful ;  still  she  is  comely. 
Irish  landlordism  has 
not  been  sufficient  to 
destroy  her  beauty,  al- 
though it  has  done  its 
best.  But  she  has  no 
gown  of  woolen  stuff 

TO  MARKET  AND  BACK  FOR  SIXPENCE.  a    COttOU    slip,    with- 

out  underclothing  of  any  kind,  makes  up  her  costume.  The 
comfortable  stockings  and  stout  shoes,  and  the  red  kerchief 
about  her  neck,  are  so  many  libels  upon  Irish  landlordism. 
Were  My  Lord's  agent  to  see  such  clothing  upon  a  girl,  he 
would  immediately  raise  the  rent  upon  her  father,  and  confis- 
cate those  clothes.  And  he  would  keep  on  raising  the  rent  till 
he  was  certain  that  shoes  and  stockings  would  be  forever 
impossible.  Neither  does  she  dance  Pat  down  at  rustic  balls, 
for  a  most  excellent  reason  —  there  are  no  balls  ;  and,  besides, 


SEVEliAL    DELUSIONS. 


397 


when  she  has  cut  and  dried  a  donkey  load  of  peat,  and  walked 
beside  that  donkey,  barefooted  in  the  cold  mud,  twelve  miles 
and  back  again,  and  sold  that  peat  for  a  sixpence,  she  is  not 
very  much  in  the  humor  for  dancing  down  any  one.  On  tiie 
contrary,  she  is  mighty  glad  to  get  into  her  wretched  bed  of 
dried  leaves,  and  pull  over  her  the  potato  sack  which  consti- 
tutes her  sole  covering,  and,  soothed  to  sleep  by  the  grunt ings 
of  the  pigs  in  the  wretched  cabin,  forget  landlords  and  rent, 
and  go  off  into  the  land  of  happiness,  which  to  her  is  America. 
She  finds  in  sleep  surcease  of  sorrow,  and,  besides,  it  refreshes 
her  to  the  degree  of  walkino:  barefooted  throuo-h  the  mud 
twenty- four  miles  on  the 
morrow,  to  sell  another 
load  of  peat  for  sixpence, 
that  she  may  pay  more 
money  to  My  Lord  Ban- 
try,  whose  town-house  in 
London,  and  whose  mis- 
tresses in  Paris,  require 
a  great  deal  of  money. 
Champagne  and  the  del- 
icacies of  the  season  are 
always  expensive ;  and 
My  Lord's  appetite,  and 
the  appetite  of  his  wife 
and  mistresses,  and  his 
children,  legitimate  and 
illegitimate,  are  delicate. 
Clearly,    Katy   is   in    no  the  real  irish  girl. 

humor  for  dancing.  She  has  her  share  to  contribute  to  all 
these  objects.  And  so  she  eats  her  meal  of  potato  or  stirabout 
— she  never  has  both  at  once — and  goes  into  sleep  and  dreams. 

As  to  the  priest,  there  never  Avas  a  wilder  delusion  than 
exists  in  the  minds  of  the  American  people  concerning  him. 
I  was  at  the  houses,  or  rather  lodgings,  of  a  great  many  of 
them,  but  one  example  will  suffice. 

Half-way  between  Kenmare  and  Killarney,  in  a  wild,  deso- 
late country,  lives  one  of  these  parish  priests  who  are  supposed 
to  inhabit  luxurious  houses,  and  to  live  gorgeously,  and  to  be 


398 


NASBY    IN     EXILE. 


perpetually  singing  the  "  Cruiskeen  Lawn,"  with  a  pipe  in  one 
hand  and  a  glass  of  potee,n  in  the  other. 

He  is  a  magnificent  man.  In  face  and  figure  he  is  the  exact 
picture  of  the  lamented  Salmon  P.  Chase,  one  of  the  greatest 
of  Americans ;  and  I  venture  the  assertion  that  had  he  chosen 
any  other  profession,  and  come  to  America,  where  genius  and 
intellect  mean  something,  and  where  great  ability  finds  great 
rewards,  he  would  have  been  one  of  the  most  eminent  of  men. 

A  man  of  great  learn- 
ing, of  wonderful  intui- 
tions, of  cool  and  clear 
judgment,  of  great  nerve 
and  unbounded  heart,  he 
would,  were  he  to  come 
to  America,  and  drop  his 
priestly  robes  be  presi- 
dent of  a  great  railroad 
corporation,  or  a  sena- 
tor, or  anything  else  he 
chose  to  be. 

But  what  is  he  in  Ire- 
land ?  His  apartments 
consist  of  a  bed-room, 
just  large  enough  to 
hold  a  very  poor  bed, 
and  a  study,  in  a  better 
class  farm-house,  and  for 
which  he  pays  rent,  the 
same  as  everybody  else 
does.  His  floor  is  uncar- 
peted,  and  the.  entire 
furniture  of  his  rooms, 
leaving  out  his  library,  would  not  invoice  ten  dollars.  His 
Parish  is  one  of  the  wildest  and  Mealiest  in  Ireland,  and  is 
twenty-five  miles  long  and  eighteen  wide. 

Now,  understand  that  this  man  is  the  lawyer,  the  friend, 
the  guide  and  director  in  temporal  as  well  as  spiritual  matters 
of  the  entire  population  of  this  district.  If  a  husband  and  wife 
quarrel  it  is  his  duty  to  hear  and  decide.     If  a  tenant  gets  into 


A  SMALL,   BUT   WELL-TO-DO    FARMEIJ— COUNTY    CORK. 


*'l    WAS    CALLED    TO    IT.  399 

trouble  with,  his  landlord  he  is  the  go-between  to  arrange  it. 
In  short  every  trouble,  great  and  small,  in  the  Parish  is  referred 
to  him,  and  he  must  act.  He  is  their  lawyer  as  well  as  their 
priest.  He  is  their  even^thing.  He  supplies  to  them  rhe  intel- 
ligence that  the  most  infernal  Government  on  earth  has  denied 
them. 

But  this  is  a  small  part  of  his  duties.  He  has  to  conduct 
services  at  all  the  chapels  in  this  stretch  of  country.  He  has 
to  watch  over  the  morals  of  all  the  people.  But  this  is  not  all. 
No  matter  at  what  hour  of  night,  no  matter  what  the  condi- 
tion of  the  weather,  the  summons  to  the  bedside  of  a  dying 
man  to  administer  the  last  sacraments  of  the  church  must  be 
obeyed.  It  may  be  that  to  do  this  requires  a  ride  on  horse- 
back of  twenty  miles  in  a  blinding  storm,  but  it  must  be  done. 
Every  child  must  be  christened,  every  death-bed  must  be 
soothed,  every  sorrow  mitigated  by  the  only  comfort  this 
suffering  people  have  —  faith  in  their  church. 

What  do  you  suppose  this  magnificent  man  gets  for  all 
this  ?  The  largest  income  he  ever  received  in  his  life  was  one 
hundred  pounds,  which,  reduced  to  American  money,  amounts 
to  exactly  four  hundred  and  eighty-one  dollars.  And  out  of 
this  he  has  to  pay  his  rent,  his  food,  his  clothing,  the  keeping 
of  his  horse,  and  all  that  remained  goes  in  charity  to  the  suffer- 
ing sick  —  every  cent  of  it. 

When  the  father  dies  his  nephews  and  neices  will  not  find 
good  picking  from  what  is  left,  I  assure  you. 

"  Why  do  you,"  I  asked,  "  a  man  capable  of  doing  so  much 
in  the  world,  stay  and  do  this  enormous  work,  for  nothing  ? " 

•'I  was  called  to  it,"  was  the  answer,  '^what  would  these 
poor  people  do  without  me  ? " 

That  was  all.  Here  is  a  man  capable  of  anything,  who 
deliberately  sacrifices  a  career,  sacrifices  comfort,  sacrifices  the 
life  he  was  fitted  for,  sinks  his  identity,  foregoes  fame,  repute^ 
tion,  everything,  for  the  sake  of  a  suffering  people ! 

''I  was  called  to  it  —  what  would  these  poor  people  da 
without  me ! " 

I  am  a  very  vigorous  Protestant,  and  have  no  especial  love 
for  the  Catholic  Church,  but  I  shall  esteem  myself  especially 
fortunate  if  I  can  make  a  record  in  this  world  that  will  give 


400  ■  NASBY     IN    EXILE. 

me  a  place  in  the  next  within  gun  shot  of  where  this  man  will 
be  placed.  I  am  not  capable  of  making  the  sacrifices  for  my 
fellows  that  he  is  doing  —  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  was.  I  found  by 
actual  demonstration  why  the  Irish  so  love  their  priests.  They 
would  be  in  a  still  worse  way,  if  possible,  without  them. 

Ignorance  of  the  real  condition  of  the  farming  Irish  is 
almost  as  common  among  the  better  class  of  Irishmen,  I  mean 
the  dweUers  in  the  cities,  as  it  is  among  Americans.  At  one  of 
the  fine  hotels  in  Glengariff,  a  watering  place,  I  made  the 
acquaintance  of  an  Irish  lady,  a  resident  of  Cork.  Her  husband 
is  a  wealthy  citizen,  a  thorough  Irishman,  a  Land  Leaguer  and 
all  that,  and  she  is  a  more  ardent  Land  Leaguer  than  her 
husband.  She  is  a  more  than  usually  intelligent  lady,  with  a 
warm  heart,  and  she  realized,  she  thought,  the  wrongs  Ireland 
was  suffering,  and  was  doing,  she  supposed,  all  she  could  to  aid 
the  oppressed  people. 

Now  in  Glengariff  suffering  is  not  permitted  to  be  seen. 
The  hotels  are  magnificent,  the  servants  well-clothed  and  well 
fed.  and  it  is  so  arranged  that  the  people  in  rags  are  seldom 
seen  in  that  vicinity. 

But  two  miles  across  the  bay  and  you  may  see  all  the 
misery  you  can  endure.  I  had  been  over  there  and  had  gone 
through  a  dozen  or  more  cabins,  and  on  my  return  I  expressed 
myself  to  the  lady  in  as  strong  terms  as  my  command  of 
language  permitted. 

"Are  you  not  exaggerating?"  asked  she.  "I  have  never 
seen  such  misery  as  you  describe.     It  cannot  be." 

"  Because  you  have  never  sought  it  out.  But  it  is  there. 
Fifteen  minutes  in  a  boat  will  take  you  to  it.  Will  you  go 
over  now,  and  see  for  \^ourself  if  I  have  exaggerated?" 

She  went.  It  was  a  lovely  morning;  the  waters  were 
smiling,  and  the  Glengariff  shore,  with  its  beautiful  buildings, 
its  long  hedges  of  fuchsias  along  the  winding  street,  the  back- 
ground a  mouniain  of  flowers,  was  a  fairy  scene.  From  this 
side  the  mountains  on  the  opposite  in  the  delicate  brown  of 
Autumn,  were  beautiful.  Distance  showed  you  only  the  beau- 
ties of  ^N^ature;  it  mercifully  hid  the  squalid  poverty  the 
mountains  contained. 

We  landed  and  began  the  ascent.     The  land  was,  as  every- 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    AN    IKISH    LADY.  401 

where,  bog  and  rock,  with  here  and  there  a  spot  reclaimed, 
which  smiled  in  green.  We  approached  one  of  the  regular 
hovels. 

"How  far  have  we  to  go  before  we  come  to  one  of  the 
houses  you  spoke  of  ? " 

"We  are  at  one  now." 

The  woman  stood  petrified. 

"Do  people  live  in  such  places?" 

"  Madam,  that  cabin  holds  a  man,  his  wife,  six  children,  the 
wife's  father  and  brother,  pigs,  calves  and  poultry.  But  you 
must  see  for  yourself  that  I  did  not  exaggerate.  Come  in 
with  me." 

The  lady  entered,  wading  pluckily  through  the  slush  and 
mud  that  surrounded  the  cabin,  and  saw  all  and  more  than  I 
had  told  her.  There  was  the  cold  earth  floor,  wet  and  slip- 
pery, the  two  wretched  beds  on  which  these  people  slept,  the 
pigs,  the  calves  and  the  poultry,  which  must  be  sheltered  and 
grown  and  fattened,  not  for  their  eating,  but  that  My  Lord 
may  have  his  rent.  There  was  the  flat  stone  in  one  corner, 
with  the  smoky  peat  fire,  no  chimney  to  carry  away  the 
smoke ;  there  were  the  half-ragged  men,  the  half-naked  women 
and  children,  shoeless,  stockingless,  skirtless,  less  everything; 
in  short,  there  were  all  the  horrors  of  absolute  destitution, 
without  one  single  redeeming  feature. 

"  Take  me  out  of  this  place,"  she  gasped. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  sight  for  a  lady  delicately  nurtured 
and  daintily  kept,  whose  hands  had  never  been  in  cold  water 
and  upon  whose  face  cold  wind  had  never  blown.  These 
people  were  of  her  own  blood,  her  own  race,  almost  her  own 
kin.  She  said  never  a  word  on  the  way  back,  but  that  after- 
noon she  left  Glengariff  for  Cork.  But  before  she  went,  a 
boat  went  over  the  bay,  and  a  dozen  families  had  at  least  one 
square  meal,  and  more  money  than  they  had  ever  seen  before. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  they  ate  the  provisions,  but  the- 
money^that  went  to  My  Lord's  agent  for  rent,  beyond  a 
doubt.  And  if  My  Lord's  agent  was  certain  that  he  could 
depend  upon  the  lady  from  Cork  as.  a  permanent  almoner, 
he  would  ascertain  to  a  penny  just  how  much  she  intended 
to  give,  and  raise  the  rent  to  that  amount. 

26 


402 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


My  Lord's  agent  is  as  ravenous  and  insatiable  as  a  grave- 
yard—  he  takes  all  that  comes. 

The  lady  from  Cork  is  spending  her  entire  time  and  a 
great  deal  of  money  in  the  interest  of  her  people.  It  requires 
actual  sight  to  understand  the  condition  of  the  Irish. 


SKETCHES  IN  GALWAY. 


CHAPTER  XXYII. 


AN    IKISH    MASS    MEETING. 


Mr.  Charles  Stewart  Parnell,  lately  in  Kilmainhaim 
Jail  for  the  crime  of  lifting  up  his  voice  in  behalf  of  an 
oppressed  people,  represents  Cork  in  the  British  Parliament, 
and  his  constituents  determined  to  give  him  a  reception. 

In  Catholic  countries  political  demonstrations  take  place  on 
Sunday,  always,  the  Catholic  having  attended  services  in  the 
morning,  devoting  the  rest  of  the  day  to  recreation  and  public 
business.  And  besides  this  reason  for  Sunday  demonstrations 
in  any  country  under  British  rule,  the  citizen  does  not  have 
time  enougti  on  any  other  day  to  make  any  demonstrations, 
political  or  otherwise.  He  has  to  earn  his  two  meals  of 
potatoes  a  day,  and  his  landlord  has  a  mortgage  upon  the 
remainder  of  his  time.  Sunday  is  his  only  day,  and  it  is  a 
blessed  thing  for  him  that  the  Church  of  England  stands 
between  him  and  his  landlord.  Were  not  labor  on  the  Sab- 
bath illegal.  My  Lord  would  raise  his  rent  to  the  point  of 
making  Sunday  labor  necessary. 

I  had  always  supposed  that  America  was  the  country  for 
demonstrations  of  a  pubhc  nature,  and  indeed  we  do  get  up 
some  monsters  in  this  way,  but  the  Irish,  in  1881,  did  things, 
compared  with  which  our  largest  are  but  pigmies. 

Eurly  in  the  morning  the  city  began  filling  with  people. 
They  came  singly  and  in  pairs,  and  in  processions.  They 
came  from  down  the  river,  from  up  the  river,  from  the  east, 
west,  north  and  south;  they  came  in  steamboats,  by  rail,  on 
horses  and  donkeys,  in  wagons  and  donkey  carts,  and  on  foot. 
By  nine  o'clock  Cork  was  swarming  with  people,  Hterally 
swarming. 

(403) 


404:  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Then  came  the  most  wonderful  procession  I  ever  saw  or 
ever  expect  to  see.  The  trades  and  occupations  of  the  city 
were  in  bodies  with  emblems,  flags  and  banners;  the  Land 
Leagues  of  the  entire  south  of  Ireland  were  there  with  appro- 
priate banners,  and  tiien  came  a  swarming,  seething,  boiling 
mass  of  humanity,  without  order,  without  form  or  coherence. 
There  were  men,  women  and  children,  on  foot,  and  in  all  sorts 
and  descriptions  of  vehicles,  and  bestriding  every  animal  that 
permits  its  back  to  be  crossed.  There  were  women  with 
children  in  their  arms,  men  carrying  their  boys  to  save  them 
from  being  crushed  in  the  press ;  there  were  old  men,  young 
men  and  boys,  maids  and  matrons  of  all  ages,  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  people,  in  all  sorts  of  garments ;  men  and  women 
shod,  men  and  women  barefooted,  and  all  in  one  inextri- 
cable jam. 

If  there  was  an  idea  in  the  way  of  a  banner  that  was  not 
in  that  procession  it  escaped  my  notice;  and  if  there  was  a 
form  or  manner  of  decoration  that  was  not  in  the  seemingly 
endless  mass  of  humanity  that  I  did  not  notice,  it  was  because 
there  was  so  much  of  it  that  one  pair  of  eyes  could  not  take 
it  all  in. 

The  procession  was  fully  ten  miles  long,  and  there  were  in 
it  not  less  than  one  hundred  thousand  people.  I  know  that 
mass  meetings  are  always  exaggerated,  but  there  were  actually 
that  number  in  that  monster  procession  on  that  Sunday. 

A  very  great  deal  is  said  about  the  intemperance  of  the 
Irish  people.  In  all  this  vast  throng,  this  hive  of  human 
beings,  there  were  but  three  drunken  men.  Also,  much  is 
said  about  their  tendency  to  brawls.  There  was  not  a  single 
fight.  The  procession  was  wild  in  enthusiasm,  wild  in  cheer- 
ing and  handkerchief -shaking,  but  there  was  not  a  blackened 
eye  nor  a  broken  head.  I  never  saw  one-fourth  the  number  of 
Americans  together  that  did  not  eventuate  in  a  score  or  two 
of  fights.  Ireland  certainly  behaved  herself  remarkably  well 
on  that  occasion. 

There  was  one  curious  scene.  A  young  man  in  Cork  in 
the  early  days  of  the  Land  League  had  been  suspected  of 
playing  into  the  hands  of  the  government,  for  gain.  Since 
the  movement  became  overwhelmingly  popular,  he  shifted  his 


405 

course  and  tried  to  curry  favor  with  the  Leaguers,  but  without 
success.  They  did  not  trust  him.  A  carriage  was  set  apart 
for  the  use  of  the  prominent  Americans  then  in  the  city,  and 
he,  by  sheer  impudence,  forced  himself  upon  them.  He  man- 
aged to  get  himself  seated  upon  the  box  of  the  carriage, 
making  himself  exceedingly  conspicuous. 

It  was  a  kind  of  conspicuosity  which  the  young  Irishmen 
did  not  like.  They  remembered  his  betrayal  of  the  cause  a 
few  months  before,  and  they  believed  his  present  zeal  was  for 
effect  and  not  honest.  They  would  not  have  him  foist  him^ 
self  upon  their  American  friends.  There  was  no  violence, 
no  obstreperousness.  Ten  of  them,  &yg  upon  each  side, 
formed  beside  the  carriage,  and  they  kept  step  as  soldiers  do, 
only  instead  of  the  regular  "  Left ! "  "  Left ! "  the  words  were 
*'Come  down!"  "Come  down!"  He  tried  to  reason  with 
them;  he  said  all  sorts  of  pretty  things  to  them;  he  assured 
them  of  his  entire  and  utter  devotion  to  the  cause;  but  to 
every  word  he  uttered  there  came  the  one  response,  "Come 
down ! "  "  Come  down ! "  He  came.  He  might  have  resisted 
force,  but  the  moral  suasion  in  the  simple  words  "Come 
down  ! "  was  too  much  for  him.  He  descended  from  the  car- 
riage and  slunk  away  in  the  crowd,  and  we  saw  no  more  of 
him.  Immediately  the  young  men  feU  into  rank,  and  the 
procession  SAvept  on.  It  was  their  way  of  punishing  one  who 
was  seeking  for  himself  instead  of  for  the  mass. 

And  that  enormous  mass  of  people  paraded  the  streets  all 
day,  and  in  the  evening,  in  the  fields  outside  the  city,  they 
waited  patiently  and  listened  to  speeches  from  the  leaders  of 
the  people,  every  sentence  bringing  a  quick  response. 

As  grand  as  was  the  demonstration,  it  was  no  mere  man 
worship  that  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  It  was  not  so  much  in 
honor  of  their  leader ;  it  was  a  protest  of  a  great  people  against 
a  system  which  has  already  driven  out  from  the  country 
two-thirds  of  the  entire  population,  and  which  would  drive 
out  the  remainder  were  there  means  enough  left  to  take  them. 
It  was  the  wail  of  a  starving  people,  a  naked  people,  a  robbed, 
outraged  and  oppressed  people.  It  was  a  protest  against 
bayonet  rule,  a  protest  against  carbines  and  ball  cartridges,  an 
appeal  for  the  right  to  live  upon  the  ground  upon  which  they 


406 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


were  born.     Had  they  arms  probably  they  would  make  this 
protest  in  another  form,  and  there  ■  never  was  a  cause  in  which 


AFFIXING  NOTICE  OF  EVICTION  UNDER  PROTECTION  OP  THE  POLICE. 

arms  could  be  taken  up  so  justly,  but  unfortunately  they  have 
not.  The  British  government  allows  the  Irishman  to  bear 
nothing  more  deadly  than  the  spade,  and  all  the  arms  that  are 


AK    EVICTION. 


407 


in  Ireland  are  used  to  compel  him  to  use  that  miplement  for 
British  greed.  ; 

I  was  present  at  an  eviction  near  Skibbereen.  An  eviction 
is  a  very  simple  thing.  The  landlord  desires  to  possess  himself 
of  the  land  Avhich  a  tenant  holds,  having  been  born  upon  it, 
his  father  and  his  grandfather  for  many  generations  back. 
When  the  land  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  present  alleged 
owners  it  was  worth- 
less, but  several  gener- 
ations have  toiled  upon 
it,  until  it  has  been  "re- 
claimed," as  they  term 
it,  and  made  into  good 
soil,  which  will  yield 
crops.  The  landlord  has 
raised  the  rent  regu- 
larly, keeping  the  ten- 
ant and  his  family 
down  to  the  potato  and 
stirabout  point,  until  it 
is  impossible  for  him  to 
pay.  There  is  no  ques- 
tion of  a  desire  to  pay 
— paying  is  a  physical 
impossibility,  unless  the 
tenant  has  a  son  in 
America,  and  even  in 
that  case  the  rent  is 
raised  to  the  point  of 
absorbing  the  boy's  wages.  Just  as  the  crop  is  ripening  the 
landlord  gets  out  a  process  of  eviction,  a  baihff,  backed  by 
thirty  constabularly,  go  to  the  house,  the  warrant  is  served, 
the  tenant  knows  exactly  what  is  to  happen,  and  he  goes  out 
without  a  word.  But  the  mother,  not  so  well  versed  in  Enghsh 
law,  does  make  a  protest.  As  wretched  as  the  cabin  is,  as  poor 
as  are  her  surroundings,  it  is  the  only  home  she  has.  In  this 
wretched  cabin  her  children  were  born,  this  is  her  home,  and 
no  woman  relinquishes  that  without  a  protest.  But  she  might 
as  well  whistle  against  the  north  wind.  There  is  no  pity  nor 
mercy  in  these  beasts,  to  say  nothing  of  justice. 


EVICTION. 


408 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


First  the  poor  furniture  is  pitched  out  into  the  road,  then 
the  children  are  thrown  out  after  the  furniture,  and  then  the 
woman  is  hustled  out,  the  door  is  nailed  up,  and  the  family  are 
by  the  roadside  in  the  cold  or  rain.  Pat  or  Mick,  as  the  case 
may  be,  is  offered  another  farm,  farther  up  the  mountain,  a 
piece  of  land,  bog  and  rock,  which  he  may  go  on  and  convert 


THE  EVICTION  VTE  SAV7, 

into  smiling  fields  only  to  be  evicted  from  that  when,  his  land- 
lord sees  fit,  or  he  may  die  by  the  roadside. 

In  the  village  of  Kenrftare,  there  were  thirteen  families  one 
cold  wet  morning,  out  on  the  roadside,  men,  w^omen  and  chil- 
dren, some  of  the  latter  being  only  two  months  old,  their  only 
protection  being  blankets  made  of  potato  sacks  stretched  upon 
four  sticks  driven  into  the  cold  clay,  and  their  only  bed,  leaves, 
which  were  wet  with  the  rain.  The  mothers  were  boiling 
their  potatoes,  contributed  by  neighbors  almost  as  poor  as 
themselves,  in  pots  suspended  from  extemporized  tripods,  the 
fuel  being  leaves  and  twigs. 


WHAT   HAPPENS. 


409 


What  became  of  them?     I  do  not  know.     I  presume  some 
of  the  children  died  from  exposure,  but  that  was  nothing  to 


the  landlord  or  his  agent.     They  were  too  young  to  work,  and 
really  stood  in  the  way  of  the  mother  and  father  paying  their 


410 


NASBT    IN    EXILE. 


rent.  Possibly  the  father  working  in  the  mines  in  Wales,  got 
money  enough  before  the  children  were  all  dead  to  enable 
them  to  get  into  some  kind  of  a  shelter. 


It  is  only  necessary  for  me  to  say  that  they  were  there,  and 
there  because  they  could  not  pay  an  unmerciful  rent  unmerci- 
fully exacted  and  relentlessly  pursued. 


BOTCOTTING.  •  411 

An  English  landlord's  agent  would  levy  upon  a  child's 
coffin  for  arrearages  of  rent,  and  the  British  government  would 
give  him  tliirty  soldiers  to  protect  the  bailiff  in  serving  the 
pl-ocess.  They  wish  it  distinctly  understood  that  rent  must  be 
paid  though  the  heavens  fall.  Kent  is  My  Lord's  hving  and 
the  agent's  also.  Where  mercy  is  shown  to  one  tenant  others 
might  expect  it,  and  so  the  rule  must  be  inexorable. 

"Boycotting"  is  a  system  devised  by  Mr.  James  Eedpath, 
Oi  America.  It  is  this:  The  landlord,  when  he  bas  made  up 
his  mind  that  he  wants  to  rob  a  tenant  of  the  land  he  once 
owned,  and  which  he  has,  does  not  evict  him  in  the  Spring. 
He  waits  till  the  tenant  has  dug  up  the  ground,  planted  it  and 
tended  it,  and  it  is  ready  for  the  harvest.  He  wants  to  steal 
the  crops  as  well  as  the  land,  and  so  just  before  harvest  he  gets 
out  his  process,  and  accompanied  by  the  everlasting  thirty 
constables,  armed  with  carbines,  he  makes  his  descent.  The 
process  is  served,  the  tenant  and  his  family  are  pitched  out 
into  the  street,  and  the  place  taken  possession  of. 

Prior  to  the  Land  League,  the  villain  had  no  difficulty  in 
employing  labor  to  secure  the  crop,  thus  giving  the  agent  his 
percentage  of  the  robbery,  and  enabling  My  Lord  to  indulge  in 
fresh  extravagances  in  London  or  Paris,  or  wherever  he  might 
be.  But  the  Land  League  steps  in  now,  and  My  Lord's  agent 
cannot  find  a  man  who  will  put  a  sickle  into  the  ground.  Xo 
matter  what  price  he  offers,  or  how  sorely  the  laborer  needs 
work,  or  how  cheaply  he  would  be  glad  to  ^vork  for  any  one 
else,  he  will  not  work  for  this  man  at  any  price.  Consequently 
the  crops  rot  on  the  ground,  and  if  the  robbed  tenant  gets  no 
benefit  from  his  labor.  My  Lord  in  Paris,  and  his  agent  at 
home,  do  not. 

I  was  in  one  cottage  over  the  bay  from  Glengariff,  in  a 
cabin  in  Avhich  three  men  were  sitting  listlessly,  waiting  for 
work.  They  had  nothing  to  eat  but  the  everlasting  potatoes, 
and  would  have  given  their  Hves,  almost,  for  something  to  do 
that  would  keep  the  pot  boiling,  even  though  there  was 
nothing   but   potatoes   in   it. 

Enter  My  Lord's  agent. 

"  Come,  men,  I  want  you  for  a  few  days." 

"Yis,  sor,  what  is  it?'" 


4:12  •  NASBY   IN    EXILE. 

"  I  want  you  on  Captain 's  place.     I  will  give  you 

two  shillings  a  day." 

Ten  pence  a  day  is  good  wages. 

"  Is  it  on  Mickey  Doolan's  f arrum  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"We  don't  want  wurruk.  We're  rich,  and  are  enjoyin' 
ourselves." 

Mickey  Doolan  was  the  evicted  tenant,  and  had  the  agent 
offered  them  a  thousand  pounds  an  hour  he  could  not  have  got 
a  stroke  from  one  of  them. 

This  is  boycotting.  The  process  was  first  tried  upon  a 
Captain  Boycott,  hence  the  term.  It  was  an  invention  of  Mr. 
James  Kedpath,  as  I  said,  and  a  very  clever  one  it  is. 

To  prevent  the  evicted  tenant  from  taking  another  farm, 
and  reclaiming  it  for  the  benefit  of  My  Lord  and  his  agent,  the 
Land  League  makes  him  the  princely  allowance  of  three  shil- 
lings a  week,  on  which  he  supports  his  family,  and  it  finds 
him  some  sort  of  a  shelter.  My  Lord  and  his  agent  have  the 
privilege  of  getting  in  the  crops  themselves,  else  they  rot  in 
the  field. 

There  is  no  violence,  no  shooting  or  mobbing  —  only  passive 
resistance.'  The  British  government  cannot  compel  a  man  to 
labor,  and  there  is  left  the  Irish  the  blessed  boon  of  dying  from 
starvation.  Possibly  the  government  will  make  labor  compul- 
sory—  it  would  not  be  worse  than  most  of  the  laws  for  the 
government  of  the  unhappy  island  now  in  force.  But  so  far 
the  Irishman  need  not  labor  for  an  unjust  landlord  unless  he 
chooses  to,  and  that  means  he  need  not  labor  for  any  of  them. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  just  landlord  in  Ireland.  Ireland 
is  a  cow  to  be  milked,  and  just  enough  potatoes  are  given  her 
to  make  the  milk. 

You  hear  a  great  deal  in  America  about  shooting  landlords. 
How  many  landlords  have  been  shot  ?  It  is  much  to  the  dis- 
credit of  the  Irish  race  that  more  have  not  been;  but  the 
melancholy  fact  is,  only  a  very  few  have  been  put  out  of  the 
way  by  buck-shot.  When  I  look  over  the  meagre  list  I  blush 
for  the  Irish.  It  is  something  in  the  way  of  an  offset  to  know 
that  they  are  not  permitted  to  have  arms,  and  it  may  be  plead 
in  extenuation  that  the  police  and  soldiery  are  all  pervading ; 


ONE    LANDLORD    WHO    WAS    KILLED. 


413 


but,  nevertheless,  it  does  seem  as  though  a  few  more  might  be 
picked  off.  If  they  cannot  have  fire-arms,  there  are  at  least 
pitch-forks  and  stones.  Clearly,  the  Irish  are  not  so  public- 
spirited  as  they  should  be. 

One  was  shot,  some  years  ago,  and  a  great  to-do  was  made 
about  it.  In  this  case,  as  in  most  of  the  others,  it  was  not  a 
question  of  rent.    My  Lord  had  visited  his  estates  to  see  how 


MY  LORD'S  AGENT. 

much  more  money  could  be  screwed  out  of  his  tenants,  and 
his  lecherous  eye  happened  to  rest  upon  a  very  beautiful  girl, 
the  eldest  daughter  of  a  widow  with  seven  children.  Now, 
this  beautiful  girl  was  betrothed  to  a  nice  sort  of  a  boy,  who, 
having  been  in  America,  knew  a  thing  or  two.  My  Lord, 
through  his  agent,  who  is  always  a  pimp  as  well  as  a  brigand, 
ordered  Kitty  to  come  to  the  castle.  Kitty,  knowing  very 
well  what  that  meant,  refused. 

"  Yery  good,"  says  the  agent,  "  your  mother  is  in  arrears 
for  rent,  and  you  had  better  see  My  Lord,  or  I  shall  be  com- 
pelled to  evict  her." 

Kitty  knew  what  that  meant,  also.  It  meant  that  her  gray- 
haired  mother,  her  six  helpless  brothers  and  sisters,  would  be 
pitched  out  loj  the  roadside,  to  dfe  of  starvation  and  exposure  ; 
and  so  Kitty,  without  saying  a  word  to  her  mother  or  any  one 


414 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


else,  went  to  the  castle,  and  was  kept  there  three  days,  till  My 
Lord  was  tired  of  her*  when  she  was  permitted  to  ^o. 


THE  KIND  OF  A  GIRL  MY  LORD  WANTS. 

She  went  to  her  lover,  like  an  honest  girl,  and  told  him  she 
would  not  marry  him,  but  refused  to  give  any  reason. 

Finally,  the  truth  was  wrenched  out  of  her,  and  Mike  went 
and  found  a  shot-gun  that  had  escaped  the  watchful  eye  of  the 


HOW    HE    WAS    KILLED,  415 

royal  constabulary,  and  he  got  powder,  and  shot,  and  old  nails, 
and  he  lay  behind  a  hedge  under  a  tree  for  several  days. 
Finally,  one  day  My  Lord  came  riding  by,  all  so  gay,  and 
that  gun  went  off,  and  "subsequent  events  interested  him 
no  more."  There  was  a  hole,  a  blessed  hole,  clear  through 
him^  and  he  never  was  so  good  a  man  before,  because  there 
was  less  of  him. 

Then  Mike  went  to  Kitty  and  told  her  to  be  of  good  cheer, 
and  not  be  cast  down ;  that  the  little  difference  between  him 
and  My  Lord  had  been  happily  settled,  and  that  they  would 
be  married  as  soon  as  possible.  And  they  were  married,  and 
1  had  the  pleasure  of  taking  in  my  hand  the  very  hand  that 
fired  the  blessed  shot,  and  of  seeing  the  wife  to  avenge  whose 
cruel  wrongs  the  shot  was  fired. 

"  Yengeance  is  mine !  "  is  written.  In  these  cases  it  is  well 
to  facilitate  the  vengeance  a  trifle  by  means  of  a  shot-gun.  I 
object  to  keeping  such  a  man  as  My  Lord  out  of  fire  and 
brimstone  a  minute.  Give  the  devil  his  due,  and  never  let 
the  note  he  holds  go  to  protest. 

An  immense  reward  was  offered  for  information  leading  to 
the  conviction  of  the  noble  man  who  fired  the  shot,  but,  though 
every  man,  woman  and  child  in  a  radius  of  twenty  miles  knew 
exactly  who  did  it,  no  one  was  found  base  enough  to  lodge 
information  against  him.  ; 

You  see  the  Irish  all  have  daughters  and  they  are  all 
comely,  and  if  shooting  lords  for  such  crimes  comes  to  be  a 
rule,  the  lords  wiU  turn  their  lecherous  eyes  elsewhere.  There 
are  worse  things  in  the  world  than  shot-guns.  That  particular 
one  should  be  wreathed  with  flowers,  and  hung  up  in  the 
church  of  that  Parish.  There  is  much  moral  suasion  in  a  shot- 
gun loaded  with  rusty  nails. 

I  entered  one  cabin  in  the  Galtees  which  rather  eclipsed 
anything  in  the  way  of  misery  that  I  had  seen.  It  was  the 
smallest  and  the  most  wretched  of  any  I  had  investigated,  and 
there  w^as  a  refinement  of  wretchedness  about  the  whole 
arrangement  that  to  an  American  would  seem  impossible^ 
The  children  were  the  thinnest  that  I  had  ever  seen.  It  was 
poverty  condensed  —  it  was  wretchedness  boiled  down.  It  was 
the  very  essence  of  misery. 


416 


NASBY    m    EXILE. 


"  "What  rent  do  you  pay  for  this  place  ? " 
''  Three  pounds  a  year,  sor ! " 

Then  with  an  inflection  in  my  voice  that  had  something  of 

sarcasm,  I  suppose, 
in  it,  I  asked : — 
"Is  that. all?" 
"Oh,  no  sor,   I 
pay  a  pound  a  year, 
poor  rate ! " 

Think  of  it !  To 
pay  a  poor  rate  im- 
plies that  somebody 
is  poorer  than  the 
payer.  Here  was  a 
family  living  in  a 
pig  style,  and  pay- 
ing fifteen  dollars  a 
year  for  the  priv- 
ilege, who,  with  a 
starving  and  almost 
naked  family,  was 
compelled  in  addi- 
tion to  this  mon- 
strous rental  to  con- 
tribute an  additional 
five  dollars  per  year  for  the  support  of  the  poor ! 

This  would  be  humorous  were  it  not  ghastly.  Had  she 
intended  it  as  a  joke  it  would  have  been  a  good  one,  but 
unfortunately  it  was  no  joke.  The  British  government  is  not 
jocular.  The  wretched  woman  was  actually  paying  a  tax  to 
support  the  poor !  What  must  be  the  condition  of  the  poor  if 
such  as  she  were  paying  to  support  them  ? 

I  was  in  the  postoffice  at  Cork,  when  a  middle-aged  woman 
came  in  and  received  a  letter.  She  opened  it  and  read  it,  or 
rather  read  a  few  lines.  The  letter  dropped  to  the  floor,  and 
she  staggered  and  would  have  fallen  but  for  the  friendly  wall 
against  which  she  leaned. 
"What  is  the  matter?" 
"Oh,  sor,  Patsey  is  dead  —  and  whdll^pay  the  rmt!^^ 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  PAH)  THE  POOR  RATE. 


DEAD.  417 

Here  it  was  again !  Patsej  was  her  son,  a  boy  of  nineteen, 
who  by  the  aid  of  an  uncle  who  had  fortunately  escaped  from 
the  clutches  of  the  British  government,  years  ago,  had  been 
taken  to  America.  He  had  found  employment  and  had  been 
regularly  sending  money  to  his  mother  to  pay  the  rent  of  the 
miserable  cabin  she  existed  in.  She  had  not  heard  from  him 
for  SIX  weeks  and  had  been  worried  about  him.  This  letter 
was  from  his  room-mate,  and  it  conveyed  the  intelligence  that 
he  had  been  sick  for  six  weeks,  and  that  his  sickness  had 
terminated  in  death.     Poor  Patsey  was  dead  and  buried. 

What  kind  of  an  infamy  is  it  that  will  not  permit  a  mother 
to  mourn  the  death  of  her  first  born  without  connecting  it 
with  '*'  rint  ? "  This  one  could  not,  for  as  dearly  as  she  loved 
Patsey,  there  were  six  others  just  as  dear  to  her,  to  whom 
Patsey  was  the  life.  It  was  Patsey  in  America  who  shielded 
the  others  from  starvation.  What  kind  of  an  infernalism  is  it 
that  grips  the  hearts  of  women,  that  lays  its  icy  iron  finger 
upon  the  tenderest  chords  in  a  mother's  heart  ? 

"  Patsey 's  dead  —  who'll  pay  the  rint ! " 

Death  and  rent!  A  most  proper  combination.  Rent  is 
death. 

Tibbitts  is  here,  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  that  not  alto- 
gether exemplary  young  man  is  paying  a  great  deal  more 
attention  to  Irish  whisky  than  he  is  to  Irish  troubles. 

He  came  in  very  much  intoxicated  last  night  at  twelve 
o'clock,  and  I  reproved  him  for  the  condition  he  was  in. 

"  It's  my  (hie)  mother  that  did  it,"  he  replied.  "  My  mother 
in  Oshkosh." 

"  Your  mother,  you  —  well,  that  is  too  much ! " 

"  True,  'shoor  you.  She  wrote  me  a  long  letter,  which  I 
got  this  mornin'.  (Hie.)  E'ligious  letter,  and  a  mighty  (hie) 
good  one.  (Hie.)  Great  woman,  mother.  She  said  man  in 
state  of  nature  (hie)  was  wicked  as  sparks  fly  upward.  Struck 
me  (hie)  as  true.  What  was  duty  ?  To  get  out  of  state  of 
nature.  (Hie.)  Man  full  of  Irish  whisky  is  not  in  state  (hie) 
nature  —  entirely  unnatural.  Ergo  —  man  drunk  not  bein'  in 
state  of  nature,  not  sinner.  See?  Logic.  Have  too  much 
regard  (hie)  for  mother's  feelings  to  be  in  state  of  nature. 
Kever  wiU  be,  so  long  as  the  old  (hie)  man  comes  down." 
27 


418 


NASBY   IN    EXILE. 


I  don't  think  he  ever  will  be.  Clearh'^,  it  is  my  duty  to 
have  the  3'oung  man  sent  home  as  soon  as  possible. 

While  I  am  informed  that  Irish  whisky  is  less  destructive 
of  the  tissues  than  Enghsh  gin  or  British  brandy,  or  the  vile 
compound  they  call  ale,  it  will  intoxicate,  and  I  do  not  accept 
Mr.  Tibbitt's  logic.  His  getting  outside  of  whisky  does  not 
enable  him  to  get  outside  of  himself. 


Conemarct  Women^ 


CHAPTER  XXYIIL 

SOME   LITTLE   HISTORY. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  make  an  American  understand  the 
Irish  question,  for  the  simple  reason  we  have  nothing  parallel 
to  it  in  our  own  country;  for  which  every  American  should 
thank  his  Heavenly  Father,  who  cast  his  lines  in  such  pleasant 
places. 

Whenever  you  speak  to  an  American  about  the  woes  and 
wrongs  of  Ireland  he  at  once  says,  "  Why  does  the  Irish  farmer 
sign  a  lease  which  he  knows  he  cannot  live  to  ? "  "  If  he  don't 
like  the  country  and  the  laws,  why  don't  he  get  out  of  it  ?  '^ 
'',Why  is  it,  the  country  being  under  one  government,  that  the 
Enghsh  farmer  and  the  Xorth  of  Ireland  farmer  are  pros- 
perous, while  the  South  of  Ireland  farmer  is  in  a  state  of 
discontent  ? " 

The  trouble  with  the  man  who  asks  these  questions  is,  he 
doesn't  know  anything  about  the  subject.  He  measures  every- 
body's grain  in  his  half-bushel.  He  supposes  that  under 
English  government,  as  in  America,  there  is  one  law  which 
obtains  everywhere,  and  under  which  all  men  are  equal. 

I  shall  try  to  make  it  plain  how  a  farmer  in  one  part  of 
Ireland  may  be  prosperous,  and  in  another  poorer  than  the 
pigs  he  fattens. 

To  understand  this  matter  it  is  necessary  to  go  back  some 
hundreds  of  years.  All  grievances  took  root  a  long  way 
back  —  the  world  has  got  too  wise  to  commence  or  tolerate 
any  new  ones. 

Originally  Ireland  was  an  independent  kingdom;  in  fact, 
five  independent  kingdoms.  Under  the  kings  were  the  clans. 
The  Clan  O'Connor,  for  instance,  held  a  certain  amount  of 
land — not  each  man  an  owner  in  fee  simple,  but  in  common. 

(419) 


420 


NASBT    IN    EXILE. 


That  is  to  say,  the  ownership  of  the  soil  was  in  the  clan  as  a 
community,  each  family  of  the  clan  holding  its  land  forever, 
and  that  land  was  distributed  among  them  as  the  best  interests 
of  the  clan  dictated.  The  chief  of  the  clan  was  elected,  and 
he  was    their    general,   their    counsellor,   their    judge,   their 


AT  WORK  IN  THE  BOG. 

advisor,  philosopher,  guide  and  friend.     He  was  the  father  of 
the  clan. 

To  support  the  dignity  of  his  position,  and  to  bear  the 
expenses  of  the  post  of  honor  put  upon  him,  a  tribute  was 
paid  to  him,  based  upon  the  land  held  —  so  much  per  acre. 
It  was  very  light,  for  the  chief  farmed  land,  as  did  the  clans- 
men ;  and  there  was,  for  the  time,  a  fair  degree  of  prosperity 
in  the  island  —  as  much  as  could  be  expected  for  that  day  and 
generation.  At  least  everybody  had  all  they  could  eat,  drink 
and  wear. 


OONQUEKmG   AUD   DISTEIBUTING.  421 

The  English  wanted  Ireland,  and  England  did  with  Ireland 
as  it  has  done  with  every  country  it  ever  desired  to  possess. 
She  simply  measured  bayonets,  and,  finding  her  bayonet  the 
strongest,  took  possession.  This  work  was  begun  by  Henry 
II.,  but  received  a  great  impetus  from  Henry  YIIL,  the  brute 
who  was  so  handy  at  decapitating  his  wives,  and  it  was  fol- 
lowed up  vigorously  by  succeeding  kings  and  queens. 

The  country  was  conquered,  the  chieftains  were  expelled, 
the  land  was  divided  up  among  the  favorites  of  the  English 
kings,  and  the  people  found  themselves  tenants  at  will  of  a 
foreign  proprietary,  instead  of  being  actuaU}^  owners  in  fee 
simple  of  their  own  land. 

England  never  does  an  injustice  by  halves.  She  is  very 
moderate  in  the  matter  of  mercy  and  justice,  and  things  of 
that  nature,  but  when  it  comes  to  robbery  and  spoliation  she 
knows  no  middle  way.  When  Elizabeth  determined  upon 
occupying  Ireland,  the  orders  were  to  spare  neither  man, 
woman  nor  child. 

The  chiefs  were  driven  out,  and  the  land  of  the  clans  was 
distributed  among  the  favorites  of  the  EngHsh  court.  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  had  forty-two  thousand  acres  given  him  from 
the  estate  of  the  Munster  Geraldines,  and  a  proclamation  was 
made  through  England,  inviting  "  younger  brothers  of  good 
families"  to  undertake  the  planting  of  the  land  from  w^hich 
the  Irish  —  the  owners  and  occupiers  of  the  soil — ^had  been 
killed  or  driven  off,  and  the  repopulation  of  the  country,  "none 
of  the  native  Irish  to  be  admitted." 

Under  this  invitation,  which  the  English  robbers  were  not 
slow  to  accept,  scores  of  estates  were  given  to  the  dissolute 
nobility  of  England,  who  were  willing  enough  to  take  posses- 
sion of  land  which  they  got  for  nothing,  and  which  would  give 
them  means  to  dodge  the  primal  curse  of  labor.  What  they 
wanted  was  to  live  as  they  wanted,  by  the  sweat  of  other 
men's  brows,  and  British  bayonets  gave  the  means. 

It  is  not  possible  to  detail  the  outrages  perpetrated  upon 
this  unfortunate  people  by  the  kings  and  queens  of  England, 
but  let  it  suffice  to  say  that  a  wholesale  system  of  spoliation, 
robbery,  and  even  extirpation,  was  inaugurated  and  most 
relentlessly  and  rigorously  pursued.     Man,  woman  and  child, 


422 


NASBY    m    EXILE. 


and  even  the  animals  that  could  not  be  driven  off  and  sold 
were  destroyed. 

There  never  Nvas,  in  the  history  of  the  world,  a  record  so 


black  with  infamy,   so  red   with  blood,   or  so  scarlet   with 
injustice. 

This  is  the  way  England  obtained   possession  of   Ireland. 
This  is  the  title  by  which  My  Lord  This,  and  My  Lord  That, 


THE   QUESTION   OF   LEASE.  423 

holds  the  lands  he  exacts  rent  for  to-day.  This  is  his  deed  to 
the  property  upon  which  five  millions  of  people  are  eating  two 
meals  of  potatoes  a  day,  that  he  may  gamble  and  keep  mis- 
tresses in  London  and  Paris. 

"Why  does  he  sign  a  lease,  the  conditions  of  which  he 
cannot  fulfil?" 

There  are  no  leases.  It  is  not  as  it  is  in  America,  where 
the  tenant  and  the  landlord  come  together,  and  bargain  and 
wrangle  over  the  terms,  and  when  an  agreement  is  arrived  at 
both  are  bound  by  the  terms  thereof.  There  is  no  lease,  no 
writing,  no  courts,  except  for  the  landlord.  The  tenant  is 
born  upon  the  ground  which  British  brute  force,  the  only  prin- 
ciple there  is  in  British  government,  robbed  him  of.  The  new 
landlord  enforced  upon  him  by  the  pikes  of  Elizabeth's  ban- 
ditti, said  to  him,  "  The  rent  of  this  land  will  be  one  shilling 
an  acre."  He  could  go  nowhere  else.  He  knew  no  other 
country,  and  so  he  bowled  his  head  and  built  with  his  own 
hands  a  cabin  —  in  the  subjugation  the  old  homes  were 
entirely  destroyed  —  and  went  to  work  upon  land,  forty  acres 
of  which,  in  its  natural  state,  Avould  not  pasture  a  goat. 

Before  it  had  any  value  whatever  the  bog  had  to  be  cut  off, 
the  stones  dug  out  —  in  short,  the  land  had  to  be  made.  They 
call  it  "  reclaiming." 

The  tenant  has  no  lease.  He  is  purely  and  simply  in  the 
power  of  the  landlord.  Whatever  rent  the  landlord  chooses 
to  exact,  that  is  the  rent  he  must  pay.  He  is  a  tenant  at  will 
—  and  the  will  is  the  will  of  his  landlord,  the  English  robber 
who  lives  in  luxury  in  London  and  Paris,  and  permits  himself 
to  be  fleeced  by  sharpers,  who,  differing  from  the  English,  use 
finesse  instead  of  force.  In  brute  force  the  English  cannot  be 
excelled ;  when  it  comes  to  decent  robbery,  the  kind  of  robbery 
where  the  victim  has  some  sort  of  compensation  in  the  know- 
ing that  it  was  accomplished  by  superior  acumen,  the  English 
are  babies. 

The  tenant — the  robbed  farmer  —  for  his  own  sake  is  com- 
pelled to  go  on  and  reclaim  the  land ;  he  must  raise  something, 
for  he  has  children  who  must  be  fed  ;  and  so  he  digs  out  the 
rocks,  and  cuts  the  bog,  and  makes  good,  arable  land  out  of 
what  was  a  barren  and  drearv  waste. 


424 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


What  happens  to  him  then  ?  Why,  My  Lord  in  Paris  has 
a  subordinate  watching  his  tenant.  There  is  nothing  so  mean 
that  there  is  not  something  meaner.  Cruel  as  My  Lord  is,  he 
has  a  crueller  man  under  him.  And  that  is  My  Lord's  agent- 
He  comes  to  the  miserable  holding,  and  he  notices  that  Pat 
has  reclaimed  an  acre  more  this  year.  Immediately  he  says  to 
Pat,  "  Your  rent  next  year,  my  fine  fellow,  will  be  advanced." 

What  can  Pat  do?  :N"othiiig.  He 
can't  get  off  the  land,  for  the  merci- 
less exactions  of  My  Lord,  who  is 
living  in  Paris  and  London,  have  left 
him  nothing;  he  cannot  get  away; 
he  has  no  title  to  possession  a  minute ; 
he  can  be  evicted  from  his  holding  at 
any  time,  for  any  one  of  a  thousand 
causes ;  there  are  no  courts  he  can 
appeal  to,  as  in  America,  for  the  mag- 
istrates are  all  landlords.  And  so  he 
bows  his  head,  and  meekly  goes  on 


TENANT  FARMER,  COUNTY  MEATH. 

and  reclaims  more  land,  only  to  have  the  rent  raised  for 
every  acre  made  valuable  by  the  labor  of  his  own  hands ; 
until,  finally,  it  comes  to  a  point  where  he  has  reclaimed  the 
entire  holding,  and  My  Lord's  agent  comes  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  is  better  for  him  and  My  Lord  —  their  interests  are 
identical  —  to  convert  the  farm  into  a  sheep-walk,  and  Pat  is 
evicted  —  which  is  to  say,  he  is  thrown  out  upon  the  roadside 


SOMETHING   TO    BE    CONSIDERED.  425 

to  starve,  with  his  wife  and  children ;  and  the  cabin  he  has 
built  is  torn  down. 

Does  he  get  anything  for  the  making  of  the  land?  Not  a 
halfpenny.  All  the  labor  bestowed  upon  that  land,  originally 
his,  goes  to  My  Lord,  whose  mistresses  in  London  and  Paris 
need  it.  They  must  have  their  silks  and  velvets,  they  must 
have  their  wines  and  carriages,  and  horses  and  servants  —  and 
Pat  must  pay  for  it. 

It  must  be  understood  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  leases 
in  the  South  and  West  of  Ireland  —  the  landlord  dictates  the 
terms,  and  the  tenant  must  accept  them.  He  has  no  alterna- 
tive. He  cannot  get  away;  he  has  nothing  to  get  away 
with.  As  to  the  difference  between  the  farmer  of  the  North 
and  South  of  Ireland,  it  is  not  true  that  the  farmer  of  the 
North  is  a  wonderfully  prosperous  man,  but  it  is  true  that  he 
is  better  off  than  the  farmer  of  the  South.  Why?  Because 
there  is  not  one  law  governing  the  whole  country.  The 
"  custom  "  that  governs  one  section  does  not  govern  the  other. 

Now,  please,  get  this  infamy  in  your  mind,  and  try  to  com- 
prehend it.  The  British  government  actually  drove  the  Irish, 
which  is  to  say  the  native  owners  of  the  soil,  out  of  the 
North  of  Ireland  into  the  South.  The  phrase  "  To  hell  or 
Connaught "  had  its  origin  in  this.  It  was  to  Connaught  that 
these  people  were  condemned  to  go,  the  alternative  being  death. 

Of  course  no  American  can  understand  why  anybody 
should  go  to  any  place  that  he  does  not  want  to  go,  America 
being  a  free  country.  But  the  American  must  understand 
that  England  is  not  a  free  country;  that  the  corrupt  and 
vicious  nobility  of  England  wanted  ground  upon  which  they 
could  commit  piracy,  and  that  they  had  the  entire  power  of 
the  British  government  behind  it.  The  English  bayonet  is  a 
rare  persuader,  especially  when  it  has  the  stolid  cruelty  and  the 
iron  wiU  of  a  Cromwell  behind  it.  Let  a  man  like  Oliver 
Cromwell  breathe  upon  a  bayonet,  and  you  may  reasonably 
expect  to  see  a  baby  impaled  upon  it  in  a  minute.  To  have 
satisfied  his  ambition,  and  what  he,  in  a  mistaken  way,  con- 
sidered his  duty,  he  would  have  burned  his  mother. 

It  was  considered  necessary  to  have  an  English  garrison  in 
the  land.     To  accomplish  this  the  Irish  were  driven  out  of  the 


426 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


North  of  Ireland,  and  when  I  say  driven  out,  I  mean  driven 
out.  They  were  forced  to  go,  man,  woman  and  child,  into  the 
wilds  of  Connaught. 

Then  the  land  vacated  by  this  exodus,  at  the  end  of  a 
bayonet  —  British  rule  always  means  bayonet,  British  states- 
manship begins  and  ends  with  a  bayonet,  that  being  the  only 
thing  in  the  world  that  does  not  think — this  land  was  divided 
up    among   the   dissolute   villains   who    infested    the    British 

Court,  and 
^,,^,,^,,^^^fe  for  whom, 
they  being 
the  alleged 
sons  of  no- 
bles, some- 
thing must 
be  done. 

But  a  con- 
dition   was 
attached  to 
these  grants 
^  of    stolen 
^  lands.    I^o 
native  Irish- 
—  man  was  to 
/c/--*-::^    have  a  hold- 
nr^rc^:^^  mg  there. 
^  ^— ^    It  was   con- 
^-C^  sidered   nec- 

essary that 
there  should 

be  in  Ireland  a  garrison  of  what  they  chose  to  call  "loyal" 
citizens,  to  hold  the  robbed  and  outraged  Irish  who  had  been 
driven  into  the  South  in  check.  Therefore  the  J^orth  of 
Ireland  was  given  to  the  dissolute  younger  sons  of  dissolute 
English  Lords,  upon  condition  that  their  tenants  should  be 
English  or  Scotch,  and  in  aU  cases  Protestants. 

To  get  English  or  Scotch  farmers  to  join  in  this  wholesale 
brigandage,  there  had  to  be  some  inducement  held  out.  They 
were  not  compelled  to  come  upon  the  ground,  and  they  made 


IN  A  DISCONTENTED  DISTRICT. 


CUSTOM/ 


4:27 


their  bargain  with  the  Lords.  They  insisted  upon  fixity  of 
tenure,  a  low  rent  and  free  sale,  which  is  to  say  they  would  not 
enter  upon  these  stolen  lands  except  upon  a  low  rent,  and  if 
they  made  improvements  they  should  have  the  benefit  thereof, 
and  if  they  chose  to  quit  the  lands  they  should  have  the  right 
to  sell  the  improvements  they  had  made,  and  that  the  improve- 
ments should  be  a  part  of  the  value  of  the  lands,  and  their 
interest  therein  should  be  an  interest  in  law  and  equity. 

This  was  agreed  to,  and  on  these  conditions  the  Kortn  of 
Ireland  was  settled  by  English  and  Scotch  Protestants;  the 


PROTECTINa  A  GENTLEMAN   FARI^ER. 

"  custom  "  known  as  "  Ulster  custom  "  was  established,  and  is 
law  to-day. 

But  ^'Ulster  custom"  does  not  extend  over  the  entire  island. 
While  the  farmer  in  Ulster  has  fair  rent,  fixity  of  tenure  and 
free  sale,  the  farmer  of  Cork  and  Tipperary  has  nothing  of  the 
kind.  He  is  a  simple  tenant  at  will.  He  holds  a  farm  at  the 
will  of  his  landlord;  his  life  is  in  the  hands  of  a  dissolute 
scoundrel  who  has  no  brains,  backed  by  a  dissolute  scoundrel 
in  the  form  of  an  agent  who  has  brains,  and  both  of  these 
scoundrels  are  backed  by  the  bayonets  of  the  most  infamous 
government  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

"Ulster  custom  "  gives  the  tenant  some  rights.  "  Cork  cus- 
tom" is  quite  another  thing.  "Ulster  custom"  was  a  bribe. 
"  Cork  custom  "  is  robbery.  It  is  a  system  of  wholesale  confis- 
cation of  labor,  of  body  and  soul. 

The  farmer  of  Cork  and  Tipperary  has  nothing  to  say  about 


428  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

himself,  his  wife  or  his  children.  If  the  son  of  the  thief  who 
stole  his  land  loses  money  at  bacaret  in  Paris,  he  telegraphs 
the  other  thief,  his  agent,  that  he  wants  money,  and  the 
secondary  thief,  who  has  a  percentage  in  the  robbery,  goes 
about  among  the  tenants,  and  raises  the  rent.  And  that  is 
all  there  is  about  it.  The  tenant  farmer  has  no  lease.  He 
lives  upon  the  land  at  the  pleasure  of  his  landlord,  and  the 
measure  of  the  rent  he  pays  is  the  measure  of  the  landlord's 
vices  and  the  agent's  expectations. 

Each  county  has  its  own  "  custom,"  and  the  poor,  robbed 
slave  lives  under  that  custom.  The  Xorth  of  Ireland  farmer 
comes  nearer  to  keeping  body  and  soul  together  than  the  South 
of  Ireland  farmer,  because  the  villain  robbers  who  expelled  the 
Irish  from  the  North  of  Ireland  had  to  make  a  custom  more 
favorable  to  get  the  Scotch  and  English  to  go  there  to  keep 
the  Catholic  Irish  in  check,  and  they  would  not  have  gone  to 
the  country  except  for  some  advantage.  An  English  lord  will 
do  anything  mean  for  the  love  of  it — the  Scotch  are  altogether 
too  acute  to  do  a  mean  thing  without  being  paid  for  it. 

An  instance,  not  a  very  large  one,  but  enough  to  illustrate 
the  power  of  the  landlord  over  his  victim,  the  tenant,  occurred 
upon  the  estate  of  My  Lord  Lei  trim,  who  is  this  minute  where 
I  hope  never  to  go  if  there  is  a  hereafter. 

This  worthy  descendant  of  a  very  unworthy  race  had  an 
industrious  tenant,  whose  farm  he  had  been  long  coveting. 
But  somehow  he  did  not  dare  to  take  it  by  force,  with  the  feel- 
ing there  was  in  the  country  at  the  time,  and  so  he  sought  a 
legal  pretext.  An  Irish  tenant  is  not  permitted  by  the  paternal 
government,  under  which  he  starves  and  goes  naked,  to  make 
any  improvements  without  the  consent  of  the  landlord.  He 
cannot  build  an  addition  to  his  cabin  (this  condition  is  unneces- 
sary, for  he  could  n't  if  he  would),  he  cannot  dig  a  ditch  or  do 
anything.  This  is  the  law,  but  it  has  never  been  enforced,  for 
in  the  very  nature  of  things  the  tenant  would  not  do  more  than 
was  profitable  to  himself  for  the  improvement  of  the  land  is 
the  enrichment  of  the  landlord,  who  religiously  raises  the  rent 
with  every  improvement  made. 

This  tenant  needed  a  ditch  preparatory  to  the  reclamation 
of  a  bog  farther  back,  and  he  had  been  putting  in  all  his  spare 


A    FOILED    LANDLORD. 


429 


time  for  two  years  digging  it.     He  did  not  suppose  that  My 
Lord  would  object  to  his  reclaiming  the  bog. 

One  Saturday  Mike  was  working  in  the  ditch  up  to  his 


THE  FILLING  OF  THE  DITCH. 

knees  in  water  when  My  Lord  came  riding  by.  He  saw  his 
opportunity.     He  knew  the  law. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Making  the  drain,  sor,"  replied  Pat,  proudly,  for  it  was  a 
big  thing  he  had  undertaken. 

"Who  gave  you  permission  to  make  a  ditch  on  my  land?" 
demanded  My  Lord.  "  My  fine  fellow,  you  have  that  dirt  all 
back  oy  Monday  morning,  or  out  you  go." 

Mike  saw  the  trap  he  had  fallen  into.  Before  striking  a 
spade  he  should  have  gone  to  My  Lord's  agent,  and  got  permis- 
sion. But  he  was  in  for  it,  for  he  know  that  My  Lord  had  a 
legal  excuse  to  rob  him  of  his  years  of  labor. 

But  the  next  morning  he  went  to  the  chapel,  and  inter- 
viewed the  priest.     The  priest  asked : — 


430  NASBY   IN    EXILE. 

"  If  you  get  that  earth  back  by  Monday  morning,  will  you 
hold  the  land  ? » 

"Unless  the  ould  —  that  is — My  Lord  doesn't  kape  his 
worrud." 

"We'll  try  whether  he  does ! "  said  the  father. 

And  so  the  sermon  that  morning  was  a  very  short  one,  and 
mostly  devoted  to  Mike's  case.  At  its  conclusion  the  father 
asked  every  man  in  the  parish  to  come  at  once  with  his  spade 
and  put  that  earth  back.  They  came — thousands  of  them  — 
and  they  wrought  with  a  will,  and  long  before  Monday  morn- 
ing the  drain  was  filled  up  as  nicely  as  possible  ;  and  when  My 
Lord  came  riding  by  again  to  see  the  drain,  and  give  orders 
for  the  eviction  of  Mike,  he  found  that  his  cruel  alternative 
had  been  fulfilled,  as  if  by  faries. 

An  Irishman  in  Corduroy  knee-breeches,  with  a  spade  in  his 
hand  and  a  short  clay  pipe  in  his  mouth,  would  not  make  a 
very  happy  stage  f airy,but  he  was  a  very  serviceable  fairy  to  Mike. 

Had  Mike  not  been  so  assisted  he  would  have  been  evicted, 
and  there  would  have  been  no  appeal  from  it.  He  couldn't 
employ  counsel  to  fight  his  battle,  for  he  had  nothing  with 
which  to  pay  counsel,  and  the  Justice  would  be  a  landlord 
anyhow,  Avho  had  other  Mikes  to  evict,  and  so  Mike  would 
have  never  gone  into  court  at  all,  but  would  have  accepted  his 
fate  in  silence. 

A  cheerful  state  of  affairs,  surely. 

And  speaking  of  the  possibility  of  paying  rent,  I  remember 
a  young  man  on  the  Galtees,  insufficiently  clad  (that  was 
nothing  new),  working  for  dear  life  in  a  soaking  rain. 

"  How  many  hours  do  you  work  ? "  I  asked. 

"  From  daylight  to  dark,  sor,"  was  his  answer,  first  peering 
around  before  speaking,  to  be  sure  that  no  one  heard  him.  In 
free  Britain  it  is  dangerous  for  him  to  talk  even  of  so  small  a 
matter  as  wages. 

"  And  what  are  your  wages  ? " 

"  Ten  pence  a  day,  sor." 

"  Are  you  satisfied  to  work  for  so  many  hours  for  so  little 
money  ? " 

"  Troth,  sor,  it  wuld  be  betther  for  my  ould  mother  if  I  cud 
get  that  the  year  around.'' 


A   BIT   OP   HISTORY. 


431 


Ten  pence  is  about  nineteen  cents ;  and  understand  he  was 
not  boarded.  Out  of  that  pittance  he  had  to  furnish  his  own 
food  and  his  own  bed. 
And  yet  he  would 
have  been  thankful  to 
the  man  who  would 
have  given  him  steady 
work  at  that  price. 

To  know  something 
of  what  landlordism 
really  is,  and  how  it 
all  came  about,  read 
the  following  little 
history  of  the  Barony 
of  Farney: 

In  1606  Lord  Essex, 
who  had  "  obtained  " 
a  grant  of  the  Barony 
of  Farney,  leased  it  to 
Evar  McMahon,  at  a 
yearly  rent  of  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds. 
And  this  wa<s  a  mighty 
comfortable  rent,  lor, 
understand,  under  the 
Crown  grants  the  one 
receiving  it  was  only  ready  for  emigration. 

charged  for  arable  land,  the  bog  and  mountain  land  adjacent, 
then  esteemed  worthless,  being  thrown  in. 

McMahon  sub-let  it  to  poorer  men,  and  they  so  improved  it 
that,  fourteen  years  later,  the  same  land  was  let  for  one  thou- 
sand five  hundred  pounds,  and  in  1636  thirty-eight  tenants 
were  compelled  to  pay  a  rental  of  two  thousand  and  twenty- 
three  pounds. 

Under  the  strong  hands  of  the  original  owners,  the  robbed 
peasantry,  who  found  themselves  tenants  on  their  own  lands, 
this  piece  of  property  was  mounting  up  in  value  very  rapidly. 

The  Earl  of  Essex  died  in  1636  A.  D.  "His"  estate  went 
to  his  sisters.     There  is  in  English  families  always  somebody 


432  IfASBY    IN    EXILB. 

to  inherit,  and  in  case  there  should  not  be,  the  Crown  steps  in 
and  takes  it,  that  the  proceeds  of  the  robbery  may  not  go  out 
of  the  race.  The  two  sisters  married  and  had  children,  of 
course,  and  in  1690,  when  the  two  came  together  to  divide 
their  plunder,  it  was  found  that  the  rentals  had  risen  to 
twenty-six  imndred  and  twenty-six  pounds.  Then  the  rents 
began  to  be  put  up  so  as  to  produce  something  like. 

The  two  daughters  had  children  to  be  educated  and  pro- 
vided for,  marriages  were  getting  to  be  common  in  the  family, 
and  the  debts  of  the  youngsters  had  to  be  paid.  And  so  in 
1769  this  estate,  which  started  so  modestly  at  two  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds,  yielded  eight  thousand  pounds. 

How  ?  Easily  enough.  The  land  in  this  stolen  estate,  as  I 
said,  was  nine-tenths  of  it  bog  and  stone,  and  only  the  arable 
land,  some  twenty-five  hundred  acres,  was  set  down  in  the 
lease,  all  the  bog  and  mountain  adjacent  for  miles  around 
being  thrown  in.  By  judiciously  evicting  the  tenants  from 
the  arable  land  and  converting  it  into  cattle  and  sheep  walks, 
and  compelling  the  tenants  to  go  upon  the  bog  and  stone  land, 
which  they  were  compelled  to  reclaim  and  drain,  the  original 
twenty-five  hundred  acres  of  arable  land  silently  grew  into 
twenty-four  thousand  six  hundred  acres,  and  fifty-seven  fam- 
ilies had  multiplied  to  a  population  of  twenty -three  thousand 
eight  hundred! 

Can  there  be  any  way  of  making  a  great  estate  so  delight- 
ful as  this  ?  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  have  a  government  steal 
land  and  give  it  to  you,  and  then  protect  you  with  bayonets 
while  you  are  compelling  the  original  owners  to  improve  it 
for  you. 

Bear  in  mind  this  fact.  The  plunderers  never  put  a  penny 
upon  this  land.  They  never  dug  a  ditch,  dug  out  a  stone,  or 
cut  a  square  foot  of  bog.  The  cabins  the  tenantry  lived  in 
they  built  themselves,  and  every  improvement,  great  and  small, 
they  made  themselves. 

And  this  process  of  swindling,  robbing,  confiscation,  spolia- 
tion and  plunder  went  on  until  this  estate,  which  commenced  at 
two  hundred  and  fifty-nine  pounds  in  1606,  now  yields  the 
enormous  revenue  of  sixty  thousand  pounds,  or  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars  per  annum  I 


THE    YOUNG   MAN    BOYLE. 


433 


Which  is  to  say,  the  laborers  on  this  estate  have  been  yearly 
robbed  of  their  labor,  and  starved  and  frozen,  that  one  family 
in  England  may 
live  in  wasteful 
luxury.  This  is  all 
there  is  of  it. 

About  the  same 
time  that  Essex 
got  his  grant,  Sir 
Walter  Ealeigh 
got  a  grant  of 
forty-two  thou- 
sand acres  (exclu- 
sive of  bog  and 
waste)  from  the 
plunder  of  the 
Earl  of  Desmond's 
estates.  There 
lived  in  London  at 
the  time  a  young 
lawyer  named 
Boyle,  who  was 
probably  the 
worst   man   then  old  but  tolerably  cheerful. 

living.  He  had  been  a  horse  thief,  a  forger,  and  murder  had 
been  charged  to  him.  Ealeigh  was  in  prison  and  wanted 
money,  and  Boyle  offered  him  one  thousand  five  hundred 
pounds  for  his  grant,  which  Ealeigh  accepted.  Boyle  paid  him 
five  hundred  pounds  on  account,  and  promptly  swindled  him 
out  of  the  balance. 

Boyle  being  serviceable  to  the  court  (such  men  always  are), 
was  created  Earl  of  Cork,  and  got  from  James  I.  patents  for 
his  plunder.  Then  he  proceeded  to  marry  his  children  into 
noble  English  families,  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  being  one  of 
the  descendants.  One  small  portion  of  the  estate  now  yields 
His  Grace  an  annual  income  of  thirty  thousand  pounds,  being 
only  a  part  of  the  land  for  which  his  ancestor,  the  horse-thief, 
forger  and  murderer,  paid  five  hundred  pounds. 

His  Grace,  the  Duke,  is  not  content  with  the  land.     Under 
28 


434  '  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

some  clause  in  the  patent  given  by  the  pedantic  James  to  the 
criminal  Boyle,  he  claims  the  right  to  the  fisheries  in  the 
Blackwater,  and  the  Irish  Appellate  Court,  an  English  land- 
lord's institution,  as  are  all  the  courts,  sustain  the  claim,  and 
he  levies  tribute  upon  every  fish  drawn  from  the  waters. 

If  it  were  very  certain  that  there  is  no  hereafter,  and  if  a 
man  had  no  more  heart  than  an  exploded  bomb  shell,  it  would 
be  a  very  good  thing  to  be  a  duke,  with  a  forger  and  horse- 
thief  for  an  ancestor.  The  duke  was  very  judicious  in  the 
selection  of  a  father. 

The  English  landlord  found  after  a  while  that  sheep  and 
cattle  raising  was  more  profitable  than  diversified  farming, 
and  with  that  calm,  sublime  disregard  of  the  rights  of  the  peo- 
ple which  is  characteristic  of  the  ruling  classes  in  England, 
eviction  became  fashionable.  The  policy  pretty  much  all  over 
Ireland  was  to  clean  out  the  population  and  consohdate  a 
thousand  small  farms  into  one  large  one. 

Between  the  years  1841  and  1861,  twenty  years,  there  were 
destroyed  in  Ireland  two  hundred  and  seventy  thousand  cabins, 
representing  a  population  of  one  million  three  hundred  thou- 
sand, all  driven  to  the  workhouse,  to  exile  or  death. 

The  process  was  a  very  simple  one.  A  process  of  eviction 
was  served,  the  tenant  and  his  family  would  be  pitched  out  into 
the  road,  and  the  cottage  be  leveled  to  the  ground.  This  was 
originally  done  with  crowbars,  but  crowbars  were  too  slow.  A 
mechanical  genius,  who  was  a  landlord  and  had  a  great  deal  of 
eviction  to  do,  invented  a  machine  to  f acihtate  the  process.  It 
was  an  elaborate  arrangement  of  ropes,  and  pulleys,  and  iron 
dogs,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  which  could  be  run  up  beside  a 
cabin  and  tear  the  miserable  structure  down  in  a  few  minutes 
and  save  a  great  deal  in  the  Avay  of  labor. 

This  is  the  only  labor-saving  machine  Irish  landlordism  has 
ever  produced. 

Any  system  that  does  not  permit  the  marriage  of  two  per- 
sons of  sound  bodies  and  minds  and  of  the  proper  age,  is  an 
infamy  that  should  be  wiped  out  at  no  matter  what  cost,  and 
no  matter  what  means. 

I  was  walking  down  a  street  in  Bantry,  when  I  came  to  a 
little  grocery  store,  with  a  ladder  projecting  over  the  wretched 


BANTEY    VILLAGE. 


435 


sidewalk.  My  Lord  Bantry,  who  owns,  or  professes  to,  every 
foot  of  the  ground  in  the  village,  is  not  willing  to  put  the  side- 
Avalks  in  good  order.     His  tenants,  who  pay  him  ground  rent, 


AFTER  A   WHOLESALE  EVICTION. 


built  their  own  homes  and  are  expected  to  build  the  sidewalks 
and  keep  them  in  order  if  they  want  them.     Otherwise  they 


436 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


may  walk  in  the  mucl. 


but  he  never  drives  through  the  village 


My  Lord    Bantry  has   his   carriage, 

He  does  not  hke  to 

see  distress. 

This  gro- 
cery was  the 
proper!  V  o  i" 
an  old  lady 
o  f  seventy, 
and  perched 
on  the  ladder 
was  a  girl  of 
about  seven 
teen  —  her 
grandchild. 
She  was  us- 
ing a  paint 
brush  as  vig- 
orously,if  not 
as  skillfully, 
as  any  male 
painter  that 
ever  lived. 

We  halted 

a  mmate  and 

greeted  h  e  r. 

Unclosing    a 

FmsHT  FAYMALE  PAiNTHER  IN  0IRLA^D  I ''        pair  of    verv 

rosy  lips  and  showing  a  magnificent  row  of  teeth  (it  migbt 
have  been  a  pride  in  the  teeth  that  made  her  open  her  mouth 
so  wide,  but,  if  so,  it  was  pardonable ! ),  she  exclaimed  : 

"  I  am  the  firsht  faymale  painther  in  Oirland !  Have  ye  a 
job  ye  can  give  me  ? " 

And  she  laughed  a  very  cheery  laugh  at  the  little  pleas- 
antry. 

There  was  with  us  a  boatman  whom  we  had  employed  for 
a  sail  on  the  bay.  As  we  passed,  he  looked  back  with  a  pleased 
expression. 

"ISTancy,  there,  on  the  ladther,  is  my  gurl." 

We  congratulated  him  on  his  good  fortune,  for  Nancy  was 


THE 


THE    BOATMAN    AND    NANCY.  437 

a  bright,  handsome,  buxom,  cheery  girl,  who  was  just  the  kind 
that  such  \  man  should  marry. 

''  You  are  to  marry  her  ? " 

"  Yes,  some  time." 

"  Why  not  now  ? " 

"  Marry  her  now  !  What,  on?  She  has  her  grandmudther 
to  care  for,  I  have  my  fadther  and  mudther,  and  there  is  but 
little  boating  to  do,  and  the  rint  is  to  pay  jist  the  same.  I 
have  lived  in  Ameriky,  and  want  to  get  back,  but  I  won't  go 
widout  Nancy,  and  God  knows  whin  I  shall  git  enough  to  go 
wid  her." 

"Why   don't   you   marry   her   and  take  the   chances. 

"Niver!  I'll  niver  marry  a  gurl  and  bring  childher  into 
the  world  to  go  through  what  we  have  had  to.  I've  seen 
enough  of  it.  My  fadther  has  been  upon  the  place  all  his  life 
and  his  fadther  afore  him.  They  made  the  land  they  wuz 
born  upon,  and  the  rint  has  bin  raised  rigularly,  lavin  us  jist 
what  we  could  git  to  eat,  and  now  at  sixty-five  and  bad  wid 
the  rheumatiz,  so  that  he  can't  work  half  the  time,  he  has 
nothing.  I  went  away  to  sea,  and  got  to  Ameriky,  but  I  had 
to  kim  back  to  take  care  of  him  and  my  mudther,  and  it's  all  I 
kin  do  to  keep  'em  from  bein'  evicted.  An  Amerikin  gev  me 
the  boat,  which  he  had  built  for  the  season,  and  if  it  wuzn't 
for  wat  I  make  out  of  it  we  would  all  be  in  the  workhouse. 
I'll  never  marry  Nancy  till  I  kin  find  some  way  to  git  to 
Ameriky,  and  some  way  there  to  make  a  dacint  livin'.  I  will 
niver  marry  and  settle  here,  to  see  Nancy  and  her  childher  kim 
up  as  I  kim  up,  and  me  livin'  as  my  fadther  and  mudther  is 
livin'." 

"And  Nancy?" 

"  It's  hard  on  the  poor  gurl,  for  there  are  any  quantity  uv 
the  byes  who  wants  to  marry  her,  but  she,  with  her  grand- 
mudther on  her  hands,  knows  all  about  it,  and  she  has  sense 
enough  to  wait  for  something  to  toorn  up.  It  will  come,  we 
hope,  some  day ;  but  it's  weary  waitin'." 

And  so  the  two,  who  in  any  other  country  would  be  wedded 
and  have  a  cottage  of  their  own,  with  plenty  to  eat,  and  drink, 
and  wear,  two  who  owe  the  world  by  this  time  at  least  three 
chubby  urchins,  the  girls  like  their  mother  and  the  boys  like 
their  father,  are  kept  apart  by  this  more  than  inhuman  system 


438 


NASBY    IX    EXILE. 


of  landlordism,  which  is  the  bottom,  top  and  sides  of  Irish 

misery.  Others 
who  never  knew 
what  it  was  to  liv^e 
better,  would  marry 
and  would  add  to 
the  eternal  roll  of 
paupers  that  make 
up  the  population  of 
Ireland;  but  a  resi- 
dence in  God's  coun- 
try unfitted  this 
man  for  that.  He 
discovered  that 
Oman's  natural  in- 
j\\v  heritance  was  not 
^  rags,  and  filth  and 
starvation,  and  he 
determined  not  to 
marry  till  he  could 
get,  somehow,  to 
the  country  where 
that  crowning  achievement  of  the  devil's  most  astute  prime 
minister,  a  landlord,  is  unknown. 

But  the  poor  fellow  will  have  to  wait  a  long  time.  He  is 
like  a  bear  chained  to  a  post  —  he  can  neither  fight  nor  run. 
My  Lord  has  a  mortgage  on  him,  and  My  Lord's  agent  will 
never  let  up  on  him  so  long  as  there  is  a  penny  to  be  squeezed 
out  of  him.  What  to  My  Lord  is  ISTancy  and  her  woes  or  her 
hopes  ?  He  would  be  w^illing  she  should  marry  and  multiply 
and  replenish  the  earth,  for  it  would  give  him  more  muscle  to 
enslave  in  time,  or  rather,  the  young  lord  who  is  riding  by  on 
his  gaily  caparisoned  pony,  with  two  flunkies  after  him,  would, 
when  he  came  into  the  estate,  have  the  children  of  the  boat- 
man and  Nancy  to  fleece,  as  the  present  lord  fleeces  Nancy  and 
the  boatman.  But  as  for  his  having  any  care  for  the  welfare 
of  Nancy  and  the  boatman,  that  is  preposterous.  The  cost  of 
the  trappings  of  the  young  lord's  pony  would  make  them  com- 
fortable, but  he  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would  suggest  such 
a  thing  to  him. 


OLD   AND   NOT   CHEERFUL. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

ENGLANT).  TRELATiTD,    SCOTLAND ROYALTY    AND    NOBILTTT. 

This  will  be  found  to  be  a  mixed  chapter,  but  I  respectfully 
desire  every  American  to  read  it  very  carefully,  and  to  ^ive  it 
some  thought  after  reading  it.  In  America,  where  one  man  is 
as  good  as  another,  we  have  so  much  that  is  good  that  we  do 
not  appreciate  the  blessings  we  enjo}^ ;  we  do  not  realize  how 
much  a  free  government  is  worth.  I  am  going  to  put  upon 
paper  some  few  governmental  facts,  to  the  end  of  showing  my 
countrymen  what  a  good  government  is  worth  to  them,  and 
what  a  bad  government  costs  the  people  who  groan  under  it. 

In  a  late  number  of  that  especial  organ  of  king-worshipers, 
the  London  Illustrated  News^  there  is  a  beautiful  engraving, 
entitled  "The  Princess  of  Wales  and  Her  Daughter,  in  the 
Garden  of  Sandringham."  It  is  a  lovely  picture.  The  garden 
itself  is  a  study,  with  its  wonderful  shrubbery,  and  flowers,  and 
statuary ;  a  garden  that  falls  but  little  short  of  being  a  Para- 
dise. And  the  Princess  of  Wales  and  her  six  or  eight  daughters 
are  just  as  lovely  —  by  the  way,  as  the  British  Parliament 
gives  every  child  born  in  the  royal  family  a  princely  estate 
and  an  enormous  allowance  to  start  with,  the  royal  family  all 
have  large  families  —  the  Princess  herself  is  arrayed  in  gor- 
geous morning  costume,  with  a  hat  trimmed  with  ostrich 
feathers,  with  a  parasol  with  silken  fringe  upon  it  a  foot 
deep,  and  everything  comporting.  The  children  are  likewise 
gorgeously  arrayed,  and  one  of  them  is  teaching  a  pug  dog 
how  to  sit  up,  the  said  pug  costing  the  British  people  at  least 
an  hundred  guineas.  The  entire  party  are  in  as  jolly  a  state  as 
can  be  imagined. 

Now  I  like  such  scenes  as  this  immensely.  I  like  to  see 
comfort  and  even  luxury.     Had  the  husband  of  this  fortunate 

(439) 


440  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

woman  and  the  father  of  these  happy  children  been,  early  in 
life,  a  shoemaker,  a  tailor,  a  lawyer,  a  merchant,  or  anything 
under  heaven,  and  had  by  his  own  labor  and  his  own  skill 
accumulated  the  means  for  all  this  luxury,  I  should  insist  upon 
his  right  to  enjoy  it  because  he  had  earned  it,  and  had  given 
the  world  something  for  it.  But  how  did  this  woman  get  it? 
Why  is  she  with  a  parasol  with  silken  fringe  a  foot  deep,  her 
children  in  silks  and  satins,  while  just  as  good  children,  and 
just  as  good  women,  in  Ireland,  are  shoeless,  stockingless  and 
almost  naked!  What  title  has  she  to  the  gardens  at  Sand- 
ringham,  and  by  what  right  does  she  starve  the  peasantry  of 
Ireland  that  she  may  thus  disport  herself  and  her  children  ? 

Simply  this :  She  is  the  wife  a  dissolute  middle-aged  man, 
whose  stupid  mother  was  the  niece  of  a  stupid  uncle,  who  was 
the  son  or  brother  or  something  or  other  of  the  worst  kind  of 
a  man  in  the  world,  who  happened  to  be  the  son  of  a  king 
who  was  half  a  lunatic  and  half  an  idiot  —  the  same  who 
attempted  by  hireling  soldiery  to  subjugate  America  —  who 
became  a  king  because  he  w^as  the  descendant  of  a  race  of 
pirates,  who  by  arms  wrested  from  the  people  of  the  countries 
they  invaded,  all  their  rights,  and  assumed  to  own  the  land. 

Have  these  people  from  first  to  last  ever  added  one  penny 
to  the  wealth  of  the  world  ?  Is  there  any  one  thmg  they  have 
ever  done  to  push  forward  the  progress  of  the  nations  ?  Not  a 
thing.  On  the  contrary,  they  have  been  the  dead  w^eights; 
they  have  been  the  blocks  in  the  way.  They  simply  live,  and 
eat,  and  drink,  and  wear  and  disport  themselves  in  the  gardens 
at  Sandringham  and  an  hundred  other  gardens;  they  have 
castles,  and  servants,  and  special  trains,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  and  hundreds  of  Guinea  pug  dogs ;  and  to  support  all 
this,  with  the  horde  of  nobility  hanging  upon  them,  and  their 
retainers,  the  men  of  Ireland  are  starving,  and  the  women  of 
Ireland  are  going  shoeless,  stockingless,  and  well  nigh  naked. 

I  am  not  especially  cruel  in  my  nature,  but  were  the  royal 
family  of  England  to  invite  the  royal  family  of  Prussia,  and 
the  Czar  of  Eussia,  and  the  King  of  Italy,  and  the  Sultan  of 
Turkey,  and  all  the  kings  of  the  world,  with  all  their  nobles, 
to  an  excursion  on  the  German  ocean,  and  were  the  ships  all  to 
go  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  make  an  end  of  the 


A   DIRE    WISH. 


441 


whole  business  at  once,  I  should  thank  Heaven  more  fervently 
than  I  ever  did  before  in  my  life.  Royalty  is  larceny  in  the 
first  degree.  It  is  larceny  all  the  way  down,  according  to  the 
amount  of  the  spoil. 


THE  PROPER  END  OF  ROYALTY. 


I  did  not  confine  my  observations  of  land  troubles  to  Ireland 
alone,  though  it  is  in  Ireland  that  there  is  the  worst  condition 


442  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

of  affairs,  for  the  reason  that  there  is  a  vital  difference  between 
the  ruhng  classes  of  England  and  the  entire  Irish  people,  in 
race  and  religion,  and  that  makes  a  great  deal  more  difference 
in  the  British  Empire  than  anywhere  else  on  the  footstool. 

But  the  English  or  Scotch  farmer  has  not  so  happy  a  time 
of  it  as  he  might  have,  and  England  will  have  just  as  violent  a 
land  agitation  as  Ireland  within  a  very  few  years.  The  aver- 
age Englishman  has  a  vast  veneration  for  royalty  and  nobility, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  for  he  ascribes  to  the  "  system  "  what 
he  himself  has  done  to  make  Britain  great,  but  his  wife  and 
children  are  nearer  to  him  than  Her  Majesty  or  My  Lord,  and 
he  is  beginning  to  ask  why  he  is  yearly  getting  worse  off,  while 
Her  Majesty  and  My  Lord  are  living  even  more  luxuriously 
and  expensively  than  ever  ? 

When  a  strong,  vigorous  race  of  men  get  to  asking  them- 
selves this  question,  it  is  high  time  that  Her  Majesty  and  My 
Lord  begin  to  look  out  for  themselves.  The  French  peasantry 
and  the  French  artisans  made  it  ver}^  warm  for  the  "^^  Divine 
Righters "  several  times,  and  finally  they  have  a  republic  that 
will  endure;  not  the  best  republic  in  the  world,  but  a  very  good 
attempt  at  one ;  as  good  as  we  could  expect  from  Frenchmen. 

Farming  in  England  doesn't  pay  much  better  than  in 
Ireland,  and  the  reason  for  it,  as  in  Ireland,  is  summed  up  in 
the  one  Avord,  rent.  In  Bedfordshire,  Lincolnshire,  Notting- 
hamshire, and  Cambridgeshire,  there  are  hundreds  upon  hun- 
dreds of  farms  vacant,  and  doing  nothing,  the  reason  being  the 
insecurity  of  tenant  farmers  and  the  rottenness  of  land  owner- 
ship. It  all  comes  from  the  fact  that  in  England  as  in  Ireland, 
the  fee  simple  of  the  land  is  in  the  hands  of  the  few,  and  that 
the  few  owners  regard  the  tenants  as  so  many  cows  to  be 
milked  for  their  infernal  extravagancies,  and  that  they  are  so 
stupid  that  they  cannot  be  made  to  understand  that  there  is  a 
point  beyond  which  the  tenant  cannot  go,  and  that  when  that 
point  is  reached  something  must  break. 

One  farm  I  saw  was  a  good  piece  of  land  of  two  hundred 
and  eighty  acres.  It  lies  as  dead  as  Julius  Caesar,  and  is 
growing  up  to  thistles.  Why?  Because  the  rent  is  four 
hundred  pounds  a  year,  or  two  thousand  dollars.  It  has  been 
screwed  up  to  that  point  by  successive^  owners,  till  the  closest 


LAND    TROUBLES    IN    ENGLAND. 


443 


labor  and  the  m^st  starving  economy  will  not  pay  the  rent. 
It  would  not  pay  it  anywhere  on  the  globe. 

In  Nottinghamshire  the  "  Koble "  proprietors  are  having 
their  farms  left  upon  their  hands  for  the  same  reasons,  and 
they  are  attempting  to  farm  them  by  their  agents,  practically 
evicting  the  skilled  labor  which  was  born  upon  the  soil  and  is 
best  fitted  to  cultivate  it. 

These  owners  are  those  whose  debts  compel  them  to  get 
something  out  of  their  land.     They  either   attempt  to   farm 

m 


MEATH  LADS  AT  CROSSAKEEL. 

them  themselves,  or  they  make  leases  at  a  rent  just  low  enough 
to  induce  their  tenants  to  continue. 

But  there  is  another  class  that  is  not  so  merciful  —  or  rather 
who  are  not  compelled  to  be  just,  and  the  English  nobleman  is 
never  just  except  upon  compulsion.  These  are  the  drones 
who  are  actually  rich,  and  have  an  income  from  some  plunder 
outside  of  their  lands.  They  will  not  make  leases  at  all,  for 
fear  of  losing  the  game!  They  want  this  beautiful  land  to 
grow  up  into  shelter  for  hares  and  birds  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  of  shooting  in  the  season. 
The  distress  of  the  evicted  tenant  —  eviction  by  reason  of  exor- 


444  NASBY   IN    EXILE. 

bitant  rent  is  as  certain  as  eviction  for  non-payment  —  is 
nothing  to  them.  They  must  have  their  preserves  of  game ; 
they  must  have  their  sport. 

The  process  is  the  same  in  England  as  it  is  in  Ireland.  The 
landlord  puts  his  estates  in  the  hands  of  an  agent,  selecting  for 
the  purpose  a  man  with  a  heart  of  flint  and  a  face  of  brass? 
one  who  Ivuows  no  mercy,  and  who  would  not  do  a  kind  act 
were  he  paid  for  it. 

The  tenant  appeals  to  him  for  a  reduction,  but  he  might  as 
well  ask  mercy  of  a  tiger.  Then  in  his  despair  goes  to  the 
landlord. 

"  My  good  sir,"  says  the  landlord,  beaming  upon  him  benev- 
olently, "  I  know  nothing  about  these  things.  The  matter  is 
entirely  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Smithson,  my  agent.     Go  to  liim." 

"  But  I  have  been  to  him  and  he  will  do  nothing." 

"  Eeally  I  regret  it.  But  Mr.  Smithson  knows  all  about  it 
—  I  don't.  If  he,  with  a  knowledge  of  the  situation — that  is 
what  he  is  there  for  —  can  do  nothing,  I  cannot.  I  am  not  to 
be  expected  to  know  anything  about  it,  nor  can  I  meddle  with 
business  that  is  his." 

And  the  poor  devil  of  a  tenant,  with  the  prospect  of  starving 
on  the  land  or  emigrating  from  the  only  place  on  earth  which 
to  him  is  a  home,  goes  away  sadly,  and  My  Lord  or  the  Kev., 
as  the  case  may  be,  drops  his  ao^ent  a  note,  saying : — "  Jobson 
was  here  to  get  a  reduction  of  his  rent.  He  will  stay,  and  can 
be  made  to  pay.    .  Be  firm  with  him." 

Then  the  agent  tells  Jobson  that  lowering  the  rent  is  out  of 
the  question  —  and  Jobson  stays,  for  he  does  not  want  to  leave. 
He  buys  his  artificial  manures  and  his  fertilizers  from  the  agent, 
for  he  can  get  credit  nowhere  else,  the  agent  has  a  handsome 
commission  from  the  manufacturer,  and  so  between  the  agent 
and  the  landlord,  the  manufacturer  and  the  usurer,  and  the  rest 
of  them,  Jobson  works  fourteen  hours  a  day  only  in  the  end 
to  either  lie  down  and  die  or  by  the  help  of  friends  get  away 
to  America. 

I  know  one  tenant  who,  dissatisfied  with  an  agent's  apology 
for  serious  and  unreasonable  raising  of  his  rent,  determined  to 
see  the  duke  himself.  At  the  interview  His  Grace  said  he 
really  knew  nothing  about  the  matter ;  he  had  put  the  re-valu- 


THE    COST    OF 


445 


ing  into  the  hands  of  the  most  eminent  man  recommended  to 
him ;  and,  in  short,  if  the  tenant  did  not  feel  comfortable,  it 
was  open  tc  him  to  leave  and  let  another  man  come  in  at  the 
new  terms.  Kow  this  was  the  cruel  truth,  but  only  part  of  the 
truth.  The  tenant  could  not  quit  without  tremendous  sacrifice 
of  his  property — to  say  nothing  of  his  home-love  and  other 
feelings.  So  he  answered,  "  Your  Grace,  I  cannot  leave  with- 
out ruinous  loss;  I  have  farmed  well  for  many  years;  I  can 
get  nothing  else  at  my 
time  of  life;  and  hence 
your  power  to  oppress 
me." 

All  England  is  dot- 
ted with  unoccupied 
farms,  and  these 
blotches  upon  the  fair 
face  of  nature  are  be- 
coming more  frequent 
every  year. 

There  are  in 
land  about  five  hun- 
dred packs  of  hounds, 
numbering  about 
eighty  each,  or  forty 
thousand  in  all.  The 
hunting  horses  num- 
ber about  one  hundred 
and  fifteen  thousand, 
and  the  yearly  cost  of 
these  hunting  establishments  is  estimated  at  more  than  forty- 
five  million  dollars. 

These  estimates  do  not  include  the  original  cost  of  the 
establishments,  it  is  merely  the  annual  expense.  The  first 
cost  goes  up  into  hundreds  of  thousands,  for  enormous  prices 
are  paid  for  good  hunters  and  the  better  breeds  of  hounds. 

And  this  hunting  is  no  joke  to  the  farmer.  The  horsemen 
and  the  hounds  go  across  the  country,  and  it  matters  httle  to 
them  what  damage  is  done  to  crops,  grounds  and  animals. 
The  tenant  has  no  rights  that  the  landlord  is  bound  to  respect, 
and  he  must  submit  to  whatever  burdens  are  imposed  upon  him. 


Eng- 


A  MAYO   FARMER. 


446  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  keep  up  the  ''good  old  English, 
customs,"  and  to  encourage  "manly  sports,"  but  are  not  the 
stomachs  of  the  tenants  and  the  stomachs  of  the  tenant's  chil- 
dren worthy  of  some  consideration  ?  And  then  if  killing  game 
is  a  sport  to  be  encouraged  to  keep  up  English  manliness,  why 
not  give  the  tenantry,  who,  after  all,  do  the  fighting,  a  shy  at 
it  ?  Why  keep  all  the  good  things  for  the  nobility  ?  John 
Hodge  could  improve  his  mark  man  ship  and  his  manhood  by 
having  an  occasional  shot  at  a  deer,  or  a  hare,  and  the  deer  or 
hare  would  not  be  an  unacceptable  addition  to  his  remarkably 
short  commons  at  table.  But  were  John  to  presume  to  be  seen 
with  a  gun  in  his  hand  he  would  be  shot  at  by  a  burly  game 
keeper,  and  if  not  killed  would  be  arrested,  tried,  convicted 
and  transported.  What  is  My  Lord's  amusement  is  John 
Hodge's  crime. 

Inasmuch  as  the  British  government  is  for  one  class  only, 
that  class  takes  mighty  good  care  of  itself.  Men  in  favor  with 
the  ruling  classes  are  pensioned  for  life,  and  in  many  cases  the 
pension  goes  beyond  life,  and  is  handed  down  to  descendants 
on  more  pleas  than  is  comprehensible.  The  army,  the  navy, 
the  law  departments,  the  State  departments,  the  —  well,  if  there 
is  a  department  in  the  English  government  that  is  not  like  a 
comet,  the  pension  tail  ten  times  as  long  as  the  department 
nucleus,  I  have  not  found  it. 

The  list  of  pensioners  set  in  very  small  type,  two  columns 
to  the  page,  occupy  twenty-two  large  pages.  And  this  enor- 
mous list  is  made  up  not  of  the  common  soldiers  and  sailors, 
but  entirely  of  what  are  called  gentlemen  pensioners  —  men 
Tvho  w^ere  foisted  into  office  as  the  younger  sons  of  the  nobility, 
or  "  sisters,  cousins  and  aunts,"  and  after  a  few  years  of  loafing 
about  the  government  offices  retired  upon  life  pensions. 

A  fair  sample  of  these  pensions  is  that  of  the  Duke  of 
Schomberg.  The  duke  was  killed  at  the  battle  of  the  Boyne, 
m  the  year  1690,  and  a  pension  of  six  thousand  pounds  or 
thirty  thousand  dollars  per  annum  was  given  his  heirs.  It  is  esti- 
mated that  this  family,  the  heirs  of  a  foreign  mercenary,  has 
received  from  the  British  government  the  enormous  sum  of  six 
hundred  and  eighty  thousand  pounds,  or  in  American  money 
three  million  four  hundred  thousand  dollars !  And  this  for  his 
being  a  favorite  of  William  of  Orange,  a  Dutch  King ! 


THE    ROYAL    FAMILY. 


447 


Eev.  J.  Smith,  whoever  he  ma}^  be,  served  at  the  Lord 
knows  what,  twenty-three  years,  at  a  yearly  salary  of  three 
hundred  and  sixty-four  pounds,  and  was  retired  at  fifty-six  years 
of  age  with  the  comfortable  pension  for  life  of  two  hundred 
and  thirty-one  pounds  annually !  And  so  on  you  go,  wading 
through  twenty-two  closely  printed  pages,  two  columns  to  the 
page,  of  just  such  cases,  the  yearly  allowance  for  these  excres- 
cencies  footing  up  for 
the  year  1879  the 
enormous  sum  of  one 
million  three  hundred 
and  thirteen  thousand 
two  hundred  and  j3.fty- 
eight  pounds !  It  is  a 
good  thing  to  be  the 
favorite  of  a  duke. 

The  Eoyal  family 
have  a  remarkably 
soft  thing  of  it.  Her 
Koyal  Highness,  the 
Princess  Royal,  re- 
ceives a  yearly  allow- 
ance of  eight  thou- 
sand pounds,  the 
Prince  of  "Wales  re- 
ceives the  snug  sum 
of  forty  thousand 
pounds,  w^hich  h  e 
manages  to  squander 
in  questionable  w^ays  (this  does  not  include  the  grants  Parlia- 
ment has  made  at  divers  and  sundry  times  to  pay  his  debts),  the 
Princess  of  Wales  ten  thousand  pounds.  Prince  Alfred  ten 
thousand  pounds  from  his  marriage  and  fifteen  thousand 
pounds  from  his  majority  —  twenty-five  thousand  pounds  in  all 
— Prince  Arthur  fifteen  thousand  pounds.  Princess  Alice  six 
thousand  pounds.  Princess  Louise,  she  of  Canada,  six  thousand 
pounds.  Princess  Mary  ^yq  thousand  pounds.  Prince  Leopold 
fifteen  thousand  pounds.  Princess  Augusta  three  thousand 
pounds,  Diike  of  Cambridge  twelve  thousand  pounds,  and  in 


MAYO   PEASANTRY. 


448  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

addition  the  last  mentioned  fraud  has  princely  pay  as  field 
marshal,  general,  colonel,  and  no  one  kno^vs  what  else. 

Whoever  chooses  may  figure  up  what  all  tliis  costs  the 
people  of  Great  Britain.     I  have  not  the  patience. 

And  bear  in  mind  the  fact  that  this  does  not  represent  any 
portion  of  wimt  these  absorbers  take  out  of  the  people.  This 
is  merely  pin  money  for  the  female  leeches  and  pocket  money 
for  the  male !  In  addition  to  this  they  have  enormous  estates 
all  over  England,  Ireland,  Scotland  and  Wales;  they  have 
offices  beyond  number,  with  a  salarv  attached  to  eacii,  and 
they  have  allowances  for  everything  under  heaven.  If  the 
tax-payer  breathes  it  costs  him  something,  for  the  nobility  have 
revenues  based  upon  everything. 

The  Eoyal  household  is  a  curiosity.  There's  the  Lord 
Steward,  who  draws  two  thousand  pounds  a  year;  the  Lord 
Treasurer  and  Comptroller,  nine  hundred  pounds  each ;  Master 
of  the  Household,  twenty  one  hundred  and  fifty-eight  pounds ; 
Secretary  of  the  Board  of  Green  Cloth,  whatever  that  may  be, 
three  hundred  pounds  ;  Paymaster,  five  hundred  pounds ;  Lord 
Chamberlain,  two  thousand  pounds;  Keeper  of  the  Privy 
Purse,  two  thousand  pounds;  Assistant  Keeper  of  the  Privy 
Purse,  one  thousand  pounds.  It  takes  two  men  to  keep  the 
jDrivy  purse,  and  it  is  large  enough  to  require  it.  Then  there 
are  eight  Lords  in  waiting,  who  get  for  waiting  seven  hundred 
and  two  pounds  each,  and  there  are  grooms  in  waiting,  grooms 
of  the  privy  chamber,  extra  grooms  in  waiting,  four  gentlemen 
ushers,  one  "  Black  Rod,'-  whatever  he  may  do  I  don't  know, 
but  for  being  a  "  Black  Rod "  he  gets  two  thousand  pounds  a 
year.  Then  there's  a  clerk  of  the  closet,  mistress  of  the  robes, 
ladies  of  the  bed-chamber,  and  bed-chamber  women,  maids  of 
honor,  and  poet  laureate,  and  examiner  of  plays. 

The  poet  laureate  gets  five  hundred  pounds  a  year  for 
writing  a  very  bad  ode  in  praise  of  Her  Majesty  on  each  birth- 
day, which  must  be  a  very  bitter  pill  for  him,  he  being  actually 
a  poet.  But  he  does  not  give  the  worth  of  the  money,  for 
there  is  absolutely  nothing  in  the  Queen  of  England  to  praise. 
Mr.  Tennyson  has  a  very  hard  place. 

The  Master  of  the  Horse  receives  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred pounds,  the  Master  of  the  Buck-hounds  one  thousand  seven 


THE    KOYAL    HOUSEHOLD. 


449 


hundred  pounds,  Hereditary  Grand  Falconer  one  thousand  two 
hundred  pounds,  (by  the  way  kings  don't  falcon  any  more), 
then  there  are  eight  Equerries  in  Ordinary  at  seven  hundred 
pounds  each,  which  is  certainly  cheap;  five  Pages  of  Honor  at 
one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  each,  and  a  Master  of  the 
Tennis  Court,  which  is  a  sort  of  a  ten  pins,  1  suppose,  at  one 
hundred  and  thirty- 
two  pounds. 

These,  under- 
stand, are   only 
few   of  the  people 
belonging  to    the 
Eoyal  household. 
There    are    over  a 
thousand     persons, 
male    and    female?  ^^ 
attached  thereto,  all  'JA' 
receiving     magnifi- 
cent salaries,  for 
real    or   imaginary 
services  to   Her 
Majesty. 

The  Queen  re- 
ceives, exclusive  of 
the  vast  income  of 
her  estates,  for  the 
running  of  her 
household  and  pen- 
sions for  the  dead-beats  who  get  too  old  to  show  themselves, 
the  enormous  sum  of  four  hundred  and  seven  thousand  pounds, 
or,  m  American  money,  two  million  thirty-five  thousand  dollars 
per  annum !  And  this  represents  but  a  portion  of  the  swindle, 
as  constantly  allowances  are  being  made  and  annuities  granted 
which  do  not  show  upon  paper,  and  can  only  be  reached  by  the 
most  ferret-like  acuteness  and  perseverance. 

Ninety  per  cent,  of  all  this  mummery,  for  which  the  people 

of  England  have  to  pay  in  good  hard  cash,  is  the  most  absurd 

and  utter  nonsense.     Like  falconry  and  all  that  business,  it  has 

gone  out  of  date.      In  the  old  times  kings  kept  buck-hounds 

29 


INHABITANTS  OF  A  BOG  VILLAGE. 


450  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

and  flew  falcons,  and  such  offices  were  necessary,  that  is,  if 
kings  were  ever  necessary,  which  I  deny,  but  it  has  all  gone, 
never  to  return.  But  the  offices  remain  —  and  the  salaries. 
They  are  kept  up  to  make  places  for  illegitimate  children  of 
lords,  for  poor  relations  of  royalty  and  nobility,  and  for  favor- 
ites whose  fathers  or  themselves  have  done  dirty  work  for  the 
government. 

In  the  name  of  all  that's  good,  what  does  the  Queen  of 
England  want  of  eight  ladies  of  the  bed-chamber,  and  thirteen 
women  of  the  bed-chamber?  Can't  she  unhook  her  dress  and 
corset,  untie  the  fastenings  of  her  skirts,  peel  off  her  clothes, 
draw  on  her  woolen  night-cap  over  her  foolish  old  head,  and 
turn  in  the  same  as  other  women  ?  What  does  she  want  of  all 
these  people  about  her  ?  I  can  understand  that  it  would  take 
that  number  and  more  to  make  the  ancient  nuisance  present- 
able in  the  morning,  but  why  tax  the  people  of  Great  Britain 
forty-four  thousand  pounds  a  year  for  this  service? 

And  then  when  it  is  taken  into  account  that  the  entire  royal 
family  have  each  aU  this  humbuggery,  to  a  less  extent,  it  can 
be  figured  up  what  a  very  expensive  thing  royalty  is,  and  how 
wise  the  American  people  were  to  bundle  the  whole  business 
off  the  continent  at  the  time  they  did. 

One  thousand  people  at  salaries  ranging  from  one  hundred 
to  ten  thousand  dollars  a  year,  to  take  care  of  one  rickety  old 
woman,  who  is  mortal  the  same  as  is  the  humblest  of  those 
ground  into  the  dust  by  her  and  hers,  and  who  has  no  more 
title  to  the  place  she  occupies  than  a  theif  has  to  your  watch. 

Ireland  swarms  with  soldiers,  and,  for  that  matter,  every 
nook  and  corner  of  the  British  Empire  is  scarlet  with  military. 
Eoyalty  and  nobility,  having  no  reason  for  existence,  have  to 
be  maintained  by  brute  force.  Eoyalty  and  nobihtydo  not 
pay  for  this  expenditure ;  a  subjugated  people  pay  for  their 
own  debasement.  To  every  pound  of  the  expenditure  in  the 
British  Empire,  sixteen  shilhngs  four  and  one-eighth  pence  go 
to  the  war  debt  and  the  support  of  the  army,  leaving  three 
shilhngs  seven  and  seven-eighth  pence  for  all  other  purposes 
whatsoever.  Military  power  is  the  basis  of  despotism  every- 
where. Germany  groans  under  it;  Eussia  sweats  under  it; 
and  wherever  a  king  is  tolerated  you  will  find  bayonets  and 


THE   PALACE    AND    TH:fc    WORKHOUSE.  451 

artillery  in  most  uncotnfortable  plenty.  Some  day,  let  it  be 
hoped,  the  kings  and  nobles  will  experience  the  delight  of 
looking  down  the  muzzles  of  these  arms  themselves. 

Up  to  the  time  of  the  disestablishment  of  the  Irish  Church, 
the  Irish  were  compelled  to  support  the  archbishops  and 
bishops  of  a  church  whose  religion  is  as  foreign  to  them  as 
Buddhism,  paying  therefor  the  sum  of  one  hundred  and  two 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds  per  annum, 
and  to  other  attaches,  for  curacies  and  all  that  business,  a  vast 
amount  more.  This  immense  amount  of  money  was  a  tax 
yearly  upon  a  starved  and  overworked  people,  to  keep  in  lux- 
urious idleness  a  parcel  of  drones  whose  only  functions  in  hfe 
were  to  eat,  sleep  and  hunt ;  who  were  of  no  earthly  use  to  the 
people  who  supported  them,  either  in  a  temporal  or  a  spiritual 
way.  There  is  one  English  church  at  Glengariff,  in  a  parish 
in  which  there  are  only  six  Protestants,  the  rector,  his  wife, 
two  children,  and  two  servants.  The  rector  has  as  fine  a 
house  as  there  is  in  the  country-side,  the  cost  of  which  and  its 
support  is  a  burden  on  a  people  struggling  for  their  dady  bread. 

Pauperism  is  a  certain  consequence  of  royalt}^  and  nobility. 
The  Queen  of  England  cannot  have  one  thousand  men  and 
women  about  her  person  under  pay  without  taking  bread  from 
the  mouths  of  many  people,  and  the  luxury  of  a  noble  must 
find  an  echo  in  the  other  extreme,  the  workhouse. 

The  number  of  adult  paupers  in  England  and  Wales  in 
1880,  exclusive  of  vagrants,  was  seven  hundred  and  eleven 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  twelve  and  the  cost  to  the  labor 
of  the  country  to  relieve  them  footed  up  eight  millions  eight 
hundred  and  nineteen  thousand  six  hundred  and  seventy-eight 
pounds. 

This  does  not  include  Ireland  and  Scotland,  but  England, 
the  most  prosperous  part  of  the  British  Empire.  The  Enghsh 
writers  on  political  economy  ascribe  this  appalling  pauperism 
to  every  cause  but  the  right  one.  Wipe  out  royalty,  nobihty, 
and  landlordism,  and  give  the  people  a  chance  to  earn  their 
bread,  and  this  army  would  be  reduced  to  almost  nothing. 

Crime  goes  on  hand  in  hand  with  pauperism.  In  1879  the 
United  Kino^dom  had  the  enormous  number  of  one  million 
four  hundred  and  ninety  thousand  four  hundred  and  thirty- 
nine  committals  for  crime.     This  does  not  include  the  cases  of 


452 


NASBY   m    EXILE. 


drunkenness  or  kindred  offences  which  come  before  magistrates 
and  are  summarily  disposed  of. 


The  principal  business  of  the  aristocracy  of  England  is  to 
make  places  for  themselves  and  their  sons  and  nephews.     No 


HOW    THE    NOBILITY    ARE    EMPLOYED.  453 

matter  how  large  the  plunder  of  the  tenantry,  the  landed  aris- 
tocracy must  have  government  employment  for  their  surplus 
children,  for  they  cannot  all  stay  on  the  acres  originally  stolen 
from  the  people,  xind  so  British  arms  conquer  other  lands,  or 
British  diplomacy,  which  is  a  lie  backed  by  a  man-of-war, 
^'acquires"  it,  and  immediately  a  full  staff  of  officials  is  sent 
out,  all  under  magnificent  salaries,  to  stay  just  long  enough  to 
be  retired  upon  a  fat  pension.  If  possible,  the  expense  of 
governing  the  "  acquired "  possession  is  squeezed  out  of  the 
unfortunate  natives ;  if  not,  the  home  government  makes  up 
the  deficiency. 

Cyprus,  an  island  made  almost  barren  by  years  of  Turkish 
misrule  and  oppression,  is  now  in  the  hands  of  the  English, 
with  a  commander-in  chief  at  fifteen  thousand  pounds  a  year, 
and  a  complete  staff,  the  cost  of  which  is  not  less  than  seventy 
thousand  pounds  per  annum,  to  say  nothing  about  the  arma- 
ment necessary  to  be  kept  there. 

The  island  of  Maritius,  a  speck  in  the  Indian  Ocean,  thirty- 
six  miles  long  and  twenty  miles  broad,  furnishes  sinecures  for 
the  scions  of  English  nobility  to  the  tune  of  eleven  thousand 
six  hundred  pounds  per  year,  and  three  little  islands  off  the 
Malayan  Peninsula  are  governed  by  a  parcel  of  ''  Sirs "  and. 
^'Hons. "  at  an  annual  cost  of  twenty-one  thousand  two 
hundred  and  ten  pounds. 

These  are  only  samples.  England  has  such  harbors  of 
refuge  for  her  surplus  nobility  everywhere,  and  the  cost  of 
supporting  these  locusts  is  a  crushing  tax  upon  the  labor  of 
the  country.  The  items  of  pauperism  and  crime  are  easily 
accounted  for. 

Some  of  her  stolen  dependencies,  however,  are  made  to  pay 
very  well.  The  total  receipts  from  British  India  for  the  year 
1879,  (customs,  taxes,  etc.),  were  sixty-five  milhon  one  hundred 
and  ninety-nine  thousand  six  hundred  and  sixty-two  pounds, 
while  the  expenditures  for  the  same  year  were  sixty-three 
million  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  thousand  three  hundred  and 
fifty-six  pounds.  India  is  so  worked  as  to  support  a  vast  army 
of  officials  and  leave  a  balance  of  two  million  pounds  for  profit 
besides.  But  the  real  profit  is  much  larger.  The  manufac- 
turers and  merchants  of  England  compel  the  down-troddeu 
natives  to  buy  their  goods  at  their  own  prices,  and  a  never  fail- 


454  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

ing  stream  of  wealth  flows  from  India  to  England.  India  was 
a  successful  piece  of  brigandage,  and  has  always  paid  very  well. 

Other  steals  have  been  successful  —  m  fact  they  all  have 
been.  These  younger  sons,  legitimate  and  illegitimate,  have 
to  be  supported  some  how,  by  the  labor  of  the  country,  and  to 
transfer  even  a  portion  of  their  cost  to  the  people  of  other 
countries  is  a  saving  of  just  that  much  from  the  people  at  home. 
But  where  is  the  necessity  of  supporting  them  at  all?  What 
necessity  is  there  for  their  existence  ? 

The  peers  of  the  realm  number  four  hundred  and  eighty- 
seven,  and  of  this  number  four  hundred  and  two  own,  or  at 
least  get  rent  for,  fourteen  million  one  hundred  and  tw^enty- 
nine  thousand  nine  hundred  and  thirty-one  acres  of  land,  which 
bring  them  a  rental  annually  of  eleven  million  six  hundred  and 
seventy-nine  thousand  eight  hundred  and  thirty-nine  pounds. 
In  addition  to  this  enormous  income  the  most  of  them  have 
appointments  of  various  kinds,  all  of  which  make  the  position 
of  peer  a  very  comfortable  one. 

They  have  a  very  jDleasant  life  of  it.  They  all  have  a 
castle  on  their  estates  in  the  country,  and  in  the  season  guests 
made  up  of  the  same  class,  with  a  few  poets,  novelists  and 
painters  to  supply  the  intellect  and  make  variety,  indulge  in  all 
sorts  of  festivities,  and  in  town,  in  the  season,  their  houses  are 
constantly  filled,  at  no  matter  what  expense.  Then  they  each 
have  a  membership  in  all  the  clubs,  and  between  their  country 
houses,  and  their  town  houses,  and  their  clubs,  they  take 
pleasure  and  cultivate  gout  till  death,  which  has  no  more 
respect  for  them  than  it  has  for  their  oppressed  tenants,  takes 
them  to  a  place  where  there  is  no  difference  between  a  duke 
and  a  laborer. 

Gout,  by  the  way,  is  the  fashionable  English  disease,  and  a 
nobleman  or  a  squire  of  an  old  family  would  rather  have  it 
than  not.  It  is  a  sort  of  mark  of  gentility,  about  as  essential 
to  his  position  as  his  family  tree,  and  no  matter  how  they 
suffer  under  it,  they  bear  it  with  fortitude  as  one  of  the  evils 
incident  to  their  rank  —  an  evil  that  emphasizes  their  dignity. 
When  Dickens  sent  Sir  Leicester  Deadlock  into  the  next  .world 
via  the  family  gout,  he  did  not  satirize  at  all.  The  starved 
Irish  never  have  the  gout,  nor  do  the  working  people  who 
clamor  for  some  measure  of  rigrit.      The  Jack  Cades  never 


MY    LORD.  455 

were  so  afflicted ;  only  your  noble,  who  toils  not,  neither  does 
he  spin,  who  goes  to  bed  every  night  full  of  every  flesh  that 
exists,  every  wine  that  is  pressed,  to  say  nothing  of  more 
potent  beverages.  It  is  an  accompaniment  of  "gentle  birth," 
and  very  liberal  living  —  living  so  liberal  as  to  be  only  possible 
by  those  who  have  other  people's  unrequited  labor  to  live  upon. 

An  Englishman  dearly  loves  a  lord.  There  is  a  cringing 
servility,  a  hat-oif  reverence  for  noble  birth,  in  England,  that 
to  an  American  is  about  the  most  disgusting  thing  he  sees. 
My  Lord  may  be  a  thin-haired,  weak-legged,  half-witted  being, 
capable  of  nothing  under  heaven  but  billiards  and  horses, 
loaded  to  the  guards  with  vices,  and  only  not  possessing  all  of 
them  because  of  his  lack  of  ability  to  master  them.  He  may 
be  the  most  infernal  cumberer  of  the  earth  in  existence,  but  if 
he  is  of  noble  birth,  if  he  has  the  proper  handle  to  his  name, 
he  is  bowed  to,  deferred  to  in  every  possible  way.  A  London 
tradesman  had  rather  be  swindled  by  a  nobleman  than  paid 
honestly  by  a  common  man,  and  for  one  to  have  permission  to 
put  over  his  door,  "  Plumber  (for  instance)  to  His  Eoyal  High- 
ness the  Prince  of  Wales,"  is  to  put  him  in  the  seventh  heaven 
of  ecstacy.  The  farm  population  of  England  show  outward 
deference,  but  they  don't  feel  it,  and  the  Irish  have  so  intimate 
an  acquaintance  with  them  that  they  refuse  even  lip  service 
and  ignore  the  "hat-off"  requirement  altogether.  This  lack  of 
respect  for  the  nobility  in  Ireland  is  considered  one  of  the  most 
alarming  signs  of  the  times. 

I  saw  a  sample  of  this  bowing  to  royalty,  in  Scotland.  I 
happened  to  be  doing  Holyrood  Castle  at  the  same  time  Hia 
Majesty  Kalakeau,  King  of  the  Sandwich  Islands,  was  in 
Edinburgh.  Xow  King  K.  may  be  a  very  good  man,  but  in 
appearance  he  is  an  ordinary  looking  man  of  half  negro  blood, 
and  not  a  very  remarkable  mulatto  at  that.  Our  Fred  Doug- 
las would  cut  up  into  a  thousand  of  him. 

He  is  a  sort  of  a  two-f or-a-penny  king ;  but  he  is  a  king 
for  all  that,  and  so  all  the  dignitaries  of  Edinburgh,  the  mayor, 
the  principal  citizens,  a  duke  or  two,  and  a  half  dozen  right 
honorables  showed  him  the  city,  and  escorted  him,  and  lunched 
him,  and  banquetted  him.  They  brought  him  to  Holyrood, 
and  the  entire  lot  of  them  formed  in  two  ranks,  and,  with  hats 


456 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


in  hand,  bowed  reverently  as  this  king  of  a  few  thousand 
breechless,  semi-civilized  savages,  passed  to  his  carriage.  And 
they  glared  ferociously  upon  the  few  Americans  who,  not  just 


THEY   GLA.IIED    FEROCIOUSLY   UPON   THE   AMERICANS. 

au  fait  in  such  matters,  and  not  knowing  precisely  who  the 
distinguished  colored  man  was,  stood  with  their  hats  on  their 
heads,  inasmuch  as  it  was  raining.  Had  it  been  the  King  of 
the  Fijis,  and  had  it  been  raining  hoj:  pitchforks,  these  snobs 
would  have  stood  with  uncovered  and  bowed  heads,  simph^- 
because  he  was  a  king.  To  these  people,  "  there  is  a  divinity 
which  doth  hedge  a  king,"  no  matter  what  kind  of  a  king  it 
is.  They  do  the  same  thing  for  that  venerable  old  stupidity, 
Victoria  Guelph,  precisel}^  as  they  did  it  for  that  amiable 
imbecility,  Albert,  her  husband,  and  are  doing  it  every  day 
for  those  embryo  locusts,  their  children.     Burns  wrote : — 

"  Rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 
A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that.  ' 

But  this  class  of  Scotch  have  forgotten  Burns.     Possibly 
they  never  understood  him.    But  Burns  was  wrong.     Kalakeaii 


LIVING    IN    IRELAND.  46^ 

may  be  a  man,  but  the  snobs  who  toadied  to  him  so  meekly, 
are  not,  and  never  can  be. 

''Look  upon  that  picture,  and  then  upon  this!"  I  have 
sliown  how  the  English  oppressor  lives.  Let  us  go,  by  actual 
figures,  taken  from  official  sources,  for  a  few  actual  facts  as  to 
the  Irish  tenant.  The  Parish  of  Glencolumbkille,  in  County 
Donegal,  is  a  fair  sample  of  the  west  coast.  In  this  parish 
there  are  eight  hundred  families.  In  the  famine  of  1880,  seven 
hundred  of  these  families  were  on  the  relief  list,  and  on  to  the 
end  of  the  famine  (if  famine  may  be  said  to  ever  end  in 
Ireland),  four  hundred  families  had  absolutely  nothing  but 
what  the  relief  committees  gave  them. 

The  committees  were  able  to  give  each  of  these  families 
per  head  per  week  seven  pounds  of  Indian  meal,  costing  five 
pence  farthing,  up  to  about  five  doUars  and  fifty  cents  per  year. 

These  people  all  said  that  if  they  got  half  as  much  more, 
ten  and  one-half  pounds,  it  would  be  as  much  as  they  would 
use  in  times  of  plenty. 

Your  pencil  and  figures  will  show  you  that  this  would  be 
equivalent  in  good  years,  to  an  expenditure  per  head  for  food 
for  every  individual,  of  one  pound  thirteen  shillings  and  six- 
pence a  year,  or  for  the  average  family  of  say  four  and 
one-half,  seven  pounds  thirteen  shillings  and  sixpence  per  year. 

This  is  the  cost  of  food  for  the  average  family  per  year 
when  the  times  are  good. 

When  potatoes  are  cheaper  than  Indian  meal  potatoes  are 
eaten,  but  one  or  the  other  constitutes  the  sole  food  of  the 
people.  As  the  cost  is  always  about  the  same,  the  figures  are 
not  changed  in  either  case. 

To  this  you  want  to  add  about  three  pounds  a  year  for 
"luxuries."  Luxury  in  an  Irish  cabin  means  an  ounce  of 
tobacco  a  week  for  the  man  of  the  house,  and  the  remainder 
of  the  three  pounds  goes  for  tea.  I  admit  this  is  an  extrava- 
gance, this  tobacco  and  tea,  and  I  doubt  not  that  a  commission 
will  be  appointed  by  Parliament  to  devise  ways  and  means  to 
extinguish  the  dudheen  of  the  man  and  abolish  the  teapot  of 
the  woman.  This  three  pounds  a  year,  thus  squandered,  would 
enable  the  landlords  to  have  a  great  many  more  comforts  than 
they  now  enjoy.     I  presume  the   Earl  of  Cork  could  build 


458 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


another  yacht  on  what  his  tenantry  squander  in  tea  and 
tobacco. 

Add  to  this  one  pound  for  clothing  (an  extravagant  esti- 
mate) for  each  member  of  the  family,  and  you  have  the  entire 
cost  of  the  existence  of  the  Donegal  family,  twelve  pounds 
three  shillings  six  and  three-quarters  pence,  or,  in  American 
money,  fifty-seven  dollars  and  sixty-one  cents ! 

The  clothing  provided  by  this  pound  a  year  means  for  the 
man  of  the  house  a  pair  of  brogans,  which  he  must  have  to 
work  at  all,  a  couple  of  shirts,  a  pair  of  corduroy  trowsers,  and 
a  second-hand  coat  of  some  kind.  The  women  and  children 
wear  no  shoes  or  stockings,  and  their  clothing  I  have  described 
before.  Of  bed-clothing  they  have  nothing  to  speak  of.  A 
few  potato  sacks,  or  gunny  bags,  or  anything  else  that  con- 
tributes anything  of  warmth,  makes  up  that  item. 

The  Queen  and  the  Princess  of  Wales  sleep  on  down  and 
under  silk,  and  the  Queen  has  one  thousand  people  about  her 
person.  My  Lord  has  his  yacht  in  the  harbor,  and  the  hum- 
blest seaman  on  board  sleeps  under  woolen  and  has  meat  three 
times  a  day. 

Some  day  there  will  be  a  Board  of  Equalization  from  whose 
decision  there  will  be  no  appeal.  Then  I  would  rather  be  the 
Donegal  peasant's  wife  than  the  Queen.  Despite  the  fact  that 
she  sent  one  hundred  pounds  to  the  starving  Irish,  she  won't 
need  silken  covering  to  keep  her  warm. 

To  pay  the  rent  and  provide  this  iif ty-eight  dollars  for  food 
and  clothing  consumes  the  entire  time  of  every  member  of 
the  household.  The  land  will  not  pay  it  —  it  is  impossible  to 
get  it  off  the  soil.  So  the  man  of  the  house  plants  his  crops 
and  leaves  them  for  the  women  and  children  to  care  for,  and 
he  goes  off  to  England  or  Wales,  and  works  in  mines,  or  in 
harvest  fields  in  the  season,  or  at  anything  to  make  some  little 
money  to  fill  the  insatiable  maw  of  the  landlord,  and  to  keep 
absolute  starvation  from  the  house. 

Then  the  boy  in  America  sends  his  stipend,  which  helps  — 
provided  his  remittances  can  be  kept  from  the  lynx-eyed  agent, 
who  would  raise  the  rent  in  a  minute  if  he  knew  that  remit- 
tances were  coming. 

But  the  work  of  caring  for  the  crops  is  not  all  the  women 


WOMEN  S    WORK. 


459 


and  children  do.     They  knit  and  sew,  every  minute  of  the 
spare  time  they  have  from  field  work,  making  thereby  from 


two  to  three  cents  a  day.     This  knitting  is  done  for  dealers 
who  furnish  the  material  and  pay  for  the  work,  and  to  get  the 


460  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

material  journeys  of  twenty  to  forty  miles,  and  the  same 
distance  back  again  to  deliver  the  finished  work,  have  to  be 
performed. 

In  brief,  there  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost,  nor  an  oppor- 
tunity wasted  to  make  a  penny.  The  penny  not  earned  makes 
the  dffference  between  enough  food  to  sustain  life,  bare  as  life 
is  of  everything  that  makes  it  desirable,  and  absolute  pinching, 
merciless  hunger.  E"o  matter  at  Avhat  sacrifice,  the  penny 
must  be  earned  and  religiously  appHed  either  for  rent  or  food. 
Clothing  is  always  a  secondary  consideration  —  a  place  to  stay 
in  and  food  to  keep  life  in  the  bodv,  these  are  the  first. 

What  is  the  amount  paid  the  drones  of  England  in  the  form 
of  pensions?  How  much  does  the  Queen  receive  ?  How  much 
do  the  little  Princes  and  Princesses  cost  the  I^ation?  How 
much  the  Dukes  and  Dukelings,  the  Eight  Honorables  and  the 
Generals  and  Colonels,  and  the  Secretaries  and  all  that? 
''Look  upon  this  picture  and  then  upon  that!"  A  nobility 
rioting  in  extravagance  —  a  whole  people  starving ! 

And  yet  there  are  those  who  believe  the  people  of  Great 
Britain  have  no  grievances,  but  should  settle  down  contentedly 
and  in  quiet ! 

If  there  is  an  American  who  does  not  hate  royalty? 
nobility,  and  aristocracy,  in  no  matter  what  form  they  come  to 
view,  he  either  wants  to  be  an  aristocrat  himself,  or  is  grossly 
ignorant  of  what  this  triplet  of  infamy  means.  If  there  is  an 
American  who  does  not  sympathize  with  the  common  people  of 
England,  Ireland,  Scotland  and  Wales,  he  is  either  a  heartless 
man  or  does  not  know  the  condition  of  the  laboring  classes  of 
that  unhappy  Empire.  And  if  there  is  an  American  who  reads 
these  pages,  and  does  not  from  this  time  out,  make  politics  just 
as  much  a  part  of  his  business  as  planting  his  crops,  that 
American  does  not  know  what  is  good  for  him.  Government 
is  the  most  important  matter  on  this  earth.  Good  or  bad 
government  makes  the  difference  between  nobility-rid(Jen 
England  and  free  America. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


PARIS    TO    GENEVA 


From  Ireland  with  its  woes,  Ireland  with  its  oppressions, 
through  England,  the  world's  oppressor,  to  Paris,  and  from 
Paris  to  Switzerland  —  that  was  the  route  our  party  took ;  not 
so  much  because  it  was  consecutive  or  in  order,  but  because  the 
whim  so  to  do  seized  us.  We  were  out  to  see,  and  to  us  all 
countries  that  were  to  be  seen  were  alike  of  interest.  We 
spent  a  few  more  days  in  Paris  —  everybody  wants  to  spend  a 
few  more  days  in  Paris  —  and  then  turned  our  reluctant  faces 
southward. 

A  dismal,  gloomy  night ;  the  fine,  penetrating  ram,  cold 
and  disagreeable,  that  chills  the  very  marrow,  half  hides  the 
dimly  burning  gas-lights,  and  makes  the  streets  utterly  forlorn. 
The  belated  pedestrian  bends  his  head  to  the  blast  and  hurries 
along,  eager  to  reach  the  cozy  room  where  the  gloom  that 
pervades  everything  out  of  doors  cannot  penetrate.  The  cabs 
roll  along  the  stony  pavements  with  a  dead,  metallic  sound 
that  adds  to  the  general  dreariness. 

Everything  and  everybody  is  depressed. 

So  it  was  when  the  train  drew  out  of  the  dimly  lighted 
station  in  Paris,  and  plunged  into  the  unfathomable  gloom  and 
darkness  of  the  country  beyond. 

Wonderful  invention  —  this  railroad !  and  never  so  wonder^ 
ful  as  at  night.  The  mariner  has  his  compass  to  guide  him  — 
the  engine-driver  has  the  rail.  You  go  to  sleep,  or  try  to,  in 
Paris;  you  wake  in  Switzerland.  It  makes  reality  of  the 
magic  carpet  in  the  "  Arabian  Night's  Tales." 

Though  the  coarse,  stuffy  compartment  afforded  no  pleas- 
ure, the  dull  roar  of  the  train  as  it  sped  on  through  the  driving 
storm  luUed  the  senses,  gave  our  memory  full  sway ;  gradually 

(461) 


462 


NASBY    m    EXILE. 


the  rain  ceased  its  pattering  against  the  window  pane,  the  sky 
broke  into  a  rosy  blue,  the  brilliant  sunlight  streamed  out  in 
the  night  over  the  beautiful  white  city,  and  Paris,  the  frivolous 
empress  of  the  world,  held  out  to  the  mind  its  multitudinous 


attractions  and  unlimited  pleasures.  We  saw  again,  reflected 
in  the  memory  of  the  last  six  weeks,  the  long,  wide  boulevards, 
with  their  cheerful  cafes  filled  with  beautifully  dressed  women 
and  leisure-loving  men.    There  was  the  constant,  ever-changing 


A   NIGHT   ON    THE   KAIL.  46S 

streams  of  humanity'  surging  on .  to  some  end,  each  in  his  own 
way.  There  were  the  lights,  the  flowers,  the  gaities  of  the 
beautiful  city,  where  the  attainment  of  happiness  and  pleasure 
seems  to  be  the  chief  aim  of  existence.  The  Louvre  with  its 
infinity  of  beauties,  the  Palais  Koyal  with  its  bewildering 
jewels,  the  Place  de  Concorde  with  its  historic  memories,  the 
Champ  Elysees  dazzling  bright,  with  its  arch-crowned  vista  of 
brilliant  equipages,  the  Bois  du  Boulogne  with  its  flower-lined 
walls  and  flower-lined  lakes.  There  was  rare  relief,  ever  pres- 
ent to  us,  in  all  its  glory,  all  its  pleasure,  all  its  gaiety.  Days, 
passed  into  Aveeks,  and  weeks  into  months,  of  perfect  enjoy- 
ment that  came  to  an  end  only  when  the  guard  in  gruff  tones 
hustled  us  out  of  the  car  at  Macon,  to  change  for  the  train 
going  to  Geneva.  The  transition  was  sudden  and  decidedly 
unpleasant. 

There  were  eight  of  us  in  the  compartment  all  that 
night  —  a  Frenchman  and  four  small  daughters,  on  their  way 
to  Geneva,  Tibbitts  and  ourselves.  Tibbitts,  who  could  not 
speak  a  word  of  French,  except  "  Der  hock^^  which  means  in 
English  ^'two  beers,"  and  "  Combien?^^  which  is  "how  much," 
entered  into  a  cheerful  conversation  with  the  Frenchman,  who 
could  not  speak  a  word  of  English.  It  was  vastly  entertaining. 
Tibbitts  would  make  a  beautiful  remark  in  English,  to  which 
the  Frenchman  would  reply,  "Qui,  Monsieur."  Then  the 
Frenchman  would  make  an  elaborate  observation  on  some- 
thing or  other  in  French,  to  which  Tibbitts  would  reply,  "  Qui, 
Monsieur,"  and  so  on  all  night. 

It  was  not  pleasant  for  those  trying  to  sleep,  but  it  seemed 
to  amuse  the  two  participants. 

At  Macon,  in  the  morning,  the  Frenchman  followed  Tibbitts 
around  the  platform,  attempting  by  gesture  and  a  volley  of 
Parisian  French,  to  make  something  known  to  hun. 

Tibbitts  came  to  me  alarmed. 

"  What  is  '  Qui  Monsieur '  in  Enghsh  ? " 

"It  means  simply  ^  Yes,  sir,' .or  'Certainly,  sir.'" 

"Did  you  know  what  that  Frenchman  was  saying  last- 
night?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  I  said  '  Qui,  Monsieur '  to  everything  he  said.    Suppose  he- 


464 


NASBY   IN   EXILE. 


asked  me  to  lend  him  a  hundred  francs !  I  am  in  a  fix  about 
it.  I  can't  go  back  on  my  word,  and  if  he  asked  me  that  I 
certainly  promised  to  do  it,  and  if  I  have  to  do  it  1  shall  have 
to  borrow  it  of  j^ou." 

Mr.  Tibbitts'  fears  were  unfounded.  A  hotel-porter  who 
could  master  a  trifle  of  English,  came  between  them,  and 
found  that  the  Frenchman  had  been  so  impressed  with  the 
urbanity  of  my  Oshkosh  friend  as  to  ask  him  in  the  night  to 
take  care  of  his  four  children  to  Geneva,  that  he  might  return 
by  the  next  train  to  Paris,  and  Tibbitts  had  said  "  Qui, 
Monsieur "  to  the  proposition,  and  he  had  the  babies  on  his 
hands  all  the  way. 

They  were  hvelv  children,  n-nd  modA  the  poor  fellow  much 


THEY  WERE  LIVELY  CHILDREN. 

trouble,  and  Tibbitts  heaved  a  prodigious  sigh  of  relief  when 
he  turned  them  over  to  their  waiting  guardian  at  Geneva.  He 
immediately  asked  for  the  French  word  for  "  No,"  and  vowed 
solemnly  to  ever  after  use  that  word  when  in  conversation 
with  Frenchmen  on  railroads  or  elsewhere. 

The  day  broke  dull  and  cheerless,  but  as  soon  as  the  sun 
came  up  the  clouds  were  driven  away,  and  the  whole  country 


ON    THE    WAY    TO    GENEVA  4:65 

was  bright  and  beautiful.  The  road  passes  through  some  of 
the  best  wine  districts  of  France,  and  nearly  all  of  the  little 
towns  through  which  the  train  whirls  with  only  a  long  shriek 
of  the  whistle,  are  devoted  to  the  handling  of  wine,  although 
in  most  of  them  there  is  a  church  or  two  and  some  monuments, 
just  enough  to  make  it  a  show  place. 

A  town  on  this  side  of  the  water  is  no  town  at  all  if  it  does 
not  have  at  least  two  or  three  places  that  were  either  old  or 
historical,  or  both.  Thus  at  Tournus,  a  little  town  of  six  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  there  is  an  Abbey  church  that  was  begun  in 
960,  and  not  completed  until  late  in  the  twelfth  century.  It 
isn't  much  of  a  church,  but  it  attracts  visitors  to  the  town,  and 
so  adds  to  its  revenue.     It  pays  to  have  show  places. 

From  Macon  to  Culoz  the  hne  passes  through  lovely  vine- 
yards that  he  spread  out  almost  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach, 
over  gently  undulating  hills  and  dales  that  are  watered  by 
pretty  little  streams,  clear  and  pure,  having  their  source  way 
off  in  the  mountains,  dimly  discernible  in  the  distance.  Soon 
after  passing  Culoz  the  country  assumes  a  more  picturesque 
appearance,  the  vine-clad  hills  giving  way  to  rugged  mountains 
that  tower  high  above  the  fertile  valley,  through  which  the 
train  has  been  rushing  for  the  past  two  or  three  hours.  Swift, 
deep  streams,  fed  by  mountain  springs,  come  tumbling  down 
the  sides  of  the  high  cliffs  and  lose  themselves  in  the  mass  of 
foliage  that  skirts  the  base  of  the  range,  w^hich  hourly  grows 
more  and  more  imposing.  We  are  whirled  through  long 
tunnels,  over  high  bridges,  and  are  treated  to  magnificent  pros- 
pects. Green  mountain  sides  crowned  with  the  ruins  of  old 
castles  that  in  days  long  gone  by  had  been  the  terror  of  the 
neighborhood,  picturesque  towns  nestling  in  cozy  nooks  flit  by 
as  the  train  speeds  rapidly  on,  until,  early  in  the  forenoon,  we 
arrive  at  Geneva,  the  Mecca  of  all  strangers  who  contemplate 
an  Alpine  or  Swiss  tour. 

The  day  was  perfect.  A  cool  breeze  from  lovely  Lake  Leman 
tempered  the  heat  that  otherwise  would  have  been  oppressive  ; 
the  sky  was  without  a  cloud  and  as  the  pure  air  was  gratefully 
inhaled  by  long  delightful  breaths,  there  was  a  sense  of  joyons- 
hess  and  happiness  that  was  heavenly.  IS'ear  at  hand  a  long 
range  of  high  mountains  stretched  out  into  the  country  and 
30 


4:66 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


lost  itself  in  the  range  that  skirts  the  shores  of  the  long  irregu- 
lar lake.  Far  off  in  the  distance,  between  the  dimly  outlined 
peaks  of  another  range,  Mont  Blanc  rears  its  grand  white  head 
high   among  the  clouds,  its  aged  covering  of    pure  wbite^ 


THE  LAKE  AND  CITY  OF  GENEVA. 

glistening  and  glinting  in  the  sunlight.     It  is  an  impressive 
scene,  full  of  strange  fascinating  beauty. 

Grandly  the  view  changes.  A  light  fleecy  cloud,  floats 
languidly  past  the  summit,  casting  a  weird  shadow  on  the  spot- 
less white.  That  delicate  lace-like  cloud,  beautiful  in  form  and 
color,  is  followed  by  another,  darker  and  more  threatening. 
Another  and  another  comes,  each  darker  and  more  forbidding, 
until  suddenly  the  whole  is  overcast.  Mont  Blanc  is  enveloped 
in  a  sable  mantle  from  which,  presently,  issues  a  low  rumbling 
noise  that  foretells  in  unmistakable  language  what  is  to  come. 
E^ow  long  jagged  flashes  of  lightning  rend  the  gloomy  masses 
of  fast  scudding  clouds,  that  turned  the  bright  day  into  dark- 
ness, the  wind  sweeps  down  from  the  mountain  with  a  wail 
half  human;  the  rain  comes  down  in  torrents,  not  in  fitful 
gusts  but  in  a  steady,  angry  stream.  The  placid  waters  of  the 
lake,  only  a  moment  before  laughing  in  the  bright  sunlight,  are 
lashed  to  a  fury,  as  the  storm  increases  in  violence.  Terrific 
peals  of  thunder  that  seem  to  shake  the  earth,  break  directly 
overhead  and  then  go  rolling  and  rumbling  away  up  the  valley, 
until  they  exhaust  themselves  and  die  away  with  one  final 
crash.     All  the  elements  seem  to  combine  to  produce  a  grand 


GENEVA.  467 

spectacle  that  strikes  the  beholder  with  awe-tempered  admira- 
tion. 

As  quickly  as  it  came  the  storm  died  away,  and  in  a  short 
time  all  nature  smiled  again  and  seemed  to  feel  better  after  the 
display  of  its  ability  in  getting  up  grand  sights  on  short  notice. 
The  sun  came  out  with  renewed  splendor  and  tinged  Mont 
Blanc  forty  miles  away,  with  a  rosy  hue,  that  lasted  all  the 
afternoon,  long  until  the  other  and  less  pretentious  peaks  had 
become  mere  outlines  in  the  twihght  that  presaged  the  coming 
night.  And  then  even  the  King  of  Peaks  began  to  fade. 
Gradually  but  constantly  the  pink  tints  turned  lighter  until  it 
was  ashen.  Then  it  became  darker  and  darker  until  at  length 
its  massive  proportions  faded  entirely  away  and  were  lost  in 
the  darkness  that  had  come  so  gradually  that  its  presence  was 
hardly  felt. 

Geneva  is  a  curious  old  city,  one  of  the  links  that  connect 
the  dead  past  with  the  terribly  active  and  quite  distinct  present. 
Its  memories  are  of  monks  and  opposers  of  monks  ;  its  present 
is  of  watches  and  music  boxes.  However,  the  Genevan  has 
been  shrewd  enough  to  carefully  preserve  the  dust  of  the  past, 
out  of  which,  combined  with  its  delightful  situation,  it  gathers 
many  shekels  from  the  horde  of  tourists  who  sweep  over 
Europe  every  year.  Everybody  must  and  does  see  Geneva. 
It  is  the  capital  of  the  smallest  canton  in  Switzerland  but  one, 
the  entire  territory  being  but  fifteen  miles  long  by  as  many 
square,  a  large  portion  of  this  being  taken  up  by  the  lake. 
Its  population  is  less  than  fifty  thousand,  but,  nevertheless,  it 
IS  the  largest  city  in  Switzerland,  and  one  which  has  the  most 
of  historical  interest  attached  to  it. 

The  land  is  so  nearly  perpendicular  in  Switzerland  that 
large  cities  are  impossible. 

So  small  was  the  canton  of  Geneva  that  Yoltaire  said  of  it : 
'\  When  I  shake  my  wig,  I  powder  the  whole  Eepublic,"  and 
when  some  commotion  occurred  in  the  little  Republic  the 
Emperor  Paul  said  of  it :  "It  is  a  tempest  in  a  glass  of  water." 

But,  small  as  it  is,  it  has  played  its  part,  and  a  very  impor- 
tant one  it  has  been,  in  the  history  of  the  world.  Here  lived 
John  Calvin,  or  Jean  Caulvin,  who  originated  that  cheerful 
form  of  rehgious  faith  known  as  Calvinism.     As  he  preached, 


468  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

and,  to  the  credit  of  his  powers  of  endurance  be  it  said,  prac- 
ticed, it  made  a  good  heaven  necessary  in  the  next  world,  to 
compensate  somewhat  for  what  his  disciples  had  to  endure  in 
this.  He  ehminated  from  life  everything  that  was  pleasant, 
everything  that  was  cheerful,  everything  that  was  pleasurable, 
and  brought  mankind  into  a  sort  of  religious  straight -jacket, 
that  made  any  swerving  from  a  straight  Hne  nnpossible. 

Daring  Calvin's  reign,  for  his  rule  was  almost  absolute, 
Geneva  was  a  safe  place  to  hve  in  (if  you  believed  with  Calvin, 
or  pretended  to  believe  hard  enough),  but  it  would  hardly 
suit  a  Parisian.  Theaters  were  considered  the  especially  wide 
gateways  to  perdition,  and  everything  that  savored  of  amuse- 
ment was  strictly  prohibited.  As  his  was  a  stern  and  gloomy 
religion,  which  made  the  business  of  this  life  a  constant  prep- 
aration for  the  next,  and  the  reward  for  all  this  sort  of  penance 
a  continuance  of  the  same  in  the  next,  his  doctrines  found 
more  ardent  support  in  Scotland  than  in  France. 

In  opposing  the  Catholic  Church,  as  the  Catholic  Church 
was  in  that  day,  Calvin,  with  Luther,  did  a  great  work,  but 
Calvin,  after  all,  simply  wanted  the  people  to  exchange  one 
form  of  spiritual  despotism  for  another.  The  chief  benefit 
arising  to  the  world  was  that,  in  moving  the  people  out  of 
Romanism  he  taught  them  that  they  could  move,  and,  so 
instructed,  they  lost  but  little  time  in  moving  out  from  the 
perpetual  thunder-cloud  he  put  over  them. 

For  many  years  he  was  supreme  in  Geneva  in  temporal  as 
well  as  spiritual  matters.  As  a  Liberal  who  hates  authority 
invariably  becomes  in  time  the  worst  bigot,  so  Calvin,  who 
commenced  as  a  champion  of  liberty  of  conscience,  came  to 
executing  and  banishing  all  who  differed  with  him  on  points  of 
religious  belief.  He  wanted  everybody  to  believe  as  their 
conscience  taught  them,  provided  it  taught  them  his  behef. 
Castellio,  one  of  his  oldest  supporters,  differed  with  him  on  the 
doctrine  of  predestination,  and  Calvin  promptly  banished  him. 
Servetus,  a  Spaniard,  wrote  a  treatise  on  the  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity.  He  was  arrested  by  Calvin  in  1553,  and  was  promptly 
tried,  found  guilty  of  not  believing  as  the  great  reformer  did, 
and  was  condemned  to  the  stake,  and  was  burned,  Calvin 
standing  by  to  make  it  impressive. 


AN   AFFECTING   ANECDOTE;  469' 

Tibbitts  told  an  old  Boston  story  of  a  confirmed  joker  who 
Was  dying.  A  friend  called  upon  him  one  morning,  and  find- 
ing his  feet  warm  sought  to  encourage  him. 

"Barnes,  you  ain't  going  to  die.  l^o  man  ever  died  with 
warm  feet." 

"One  did." 

"Who?" 

"  John  Kogers ! " 

Servetus  died  with  warm  feet,  and  his  ashes  were  scattered 
to  the  four  winds.  He  and  Calvin  difi'ered  about  the  exact 
meaning  of  some  passages  of  scripture  and  as  it  had  not  been 
revised  at  that  date,  Calvin  made  himself  the  authority.  As 
he  had  supreme  power  and  could  do  as  he  pleased  he  succeeded 
in  having  a  tolerable  degree  of  unanimity.  After  the  burning 
of  Servetus  there  were  but  few  who  desired  to  argue  with 
Calvin. 

I  have  observed  that  burning  and  otherwise  killing  for  the 
up-building  of  the  kingdom  of  the  Prince  of  Peace  has  been 
common  in  all  ages,  and  that  the  sect  that  does  the  most  of  it 
is  always  the  one  that  happens  to  be  in  power.  The  Jesuits 
have  published  a  sort  of  Catholic  "Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs," 
which  sets  forth  with  ghastly  wood  engravings  the  histories  of 
the  persecutions  of  Catholics  by  Protestants.  The  burning  of 
Servetus  by  Calvin  is  the  subject  of  one  of  the  illustrations, 
though  the  editor  carefully  omits  the  fact  that  Servetus  was 
not  a  Catholic  at  all. 

Kosseau,  the  great  Socialist,  was  born  here,  and  here  he 
wrote  the  works  that  have  consigned  his  memory  to  infamy 
or  glory,  according  as  the  reader  believes.  He  was  a  man  of 
wonderful  genius,  one  of  the  foremost  writers  of  the  world, 
but  he  was  as  fantastic  as  any  other  Frenchman,  and  his 
doctrines  were  based  upon  a  condition  of  things  which  only  a 
dreamy  poet  could  imagine  as  possible.  He  was  a  Socialist,  a 
latitudinarian,  and  one  of  the  kind  of  "  world  reformers  "  who 
hold  that  everything  that  is,  is  wrong,  and  that  to  destroy 
anything  is  to  better  the  condition  of  the  world. 

It  is  a  curious  commentary  upon  French  morals  that  after 
he  had  been  the  lover,  (with  all  that  the  word  impHes)  of  a 
dozen  or  more  of  French  titled  women  who  affected  men  of 


470  NASBY    IN    3<:XILE. 

letters,  and  while  living  openly  with  his  cook,  who  bore  him 
live  illegitimate  children,  a  French  college  invited  him  to  write 
a  treatise  upon  the  ^'  Effect  of  Science  and  Art  Upon  Morals," 
which  invitation  he  most  cheerfully  accepted.  He  was  the 
reverse  of  Calvin,  but  like  Calvin,  he  left  his  impress  upon  the 
thought  of  the  little  city. 

Geneva  is  a  pleasant  place  to  come  to,  and,  but  for  the 
extortionate  hotels,  would  be  a  place  that  one  would  be  loth  to 
leave.  Swiss  hotel  keepers  have  got  swindling  down  to  so  fine 
a  point  that  further  progress  in  that  direction  is  impossible. 
There  is  a  legend  afloat  that  hotel  keepers  from  all  over 
Europe  come  to  Geneva  to  learn  the  business,  and  that  lectures 
on  the  art  of  swindling  travelers  are  given  regularly  by  the 
managers  of  Geneva  hotels ;  in  short,  that  Geneva  is  a  sort  of 
hotel  college,  but  I  don't  know  as  to  its  truth.  Any  hotel 
keeper  here,  however,  is  competent  to  fill  a  professorship  —  in 
such  an  institution. 

You  are  charged  for  candles,  a  franc  each.  You  never  use 
a  candle,  except  during  the  minute  necessary  to  disrobe  for 
your  bed,  but  you  are  charged  a  franc  for  it  just  the  same. 
The  more  conscientious  hotel  manager  wants  to  satisfy  you 
with  a  new  candle  every  night,  and  so  he  has  a  little  machine, 
something  like  a  pencil  sharpener,  with  which  he  tapers  off 
the  top  of  the  burned  candle,  making  it  look  as  though  it  had 
never  been  lighted,  and  charges  you  right  over  again  for  it. 

Tibbitts  exasperated  his  landlord  by  putting  his  candle  in 
his  pocket  every  morning,  and  from  the  front  of  the  hotel 
giving  it  to  the  first  poor  person  who  passed.  Bat  the  land- 
lord smiled  grimly,  in  French,  when  he  saw  the  little  trick,  and 
promptly  instructed  his  clerk  to  charge  Monsieur  Tibbitts  two 
francs  a  day  for  broken  glass. 

You  are  to  depart  to-morrow  morning,  and  you  charge  the 
clerk  with  great  distinctness  to  have  your  bill  made  out  before 
you  retire.  You  want  to  go  over  the  items  and  see  that  every- 
thing is  correct.  The  clerk,  with  great  suavity,  assures  you 
that  it  shall  be  done,  but  it  isn't.  You  come  for  it  and  find 
the  office  closed.  The  next  morning  you  arise  betimes  and 
make  the  same  request;  you  say  you  want  your  bill  imme- 
diately, to  which  the  same  answer  is  given  with  an  apology 


4Y1 

for  its  not  having  been  done  the  night  before.  You  get 
through  your  breakfast  —  it  is  not  yet  done.  Minutes  fly,  the 
carriage  is  at  the  door  to  take  you  to  your  train,  and  just  as 
the  last  minute  possible  to  catch  the  train  is  on  you,  it 
conies  —  as  long  as  your  arm,  written  in  French,  which  you 
can't  understand  if  you  had  time  to,  but  which  now  is  utterly 
impossible.  You  glance  at  the  grand  total  —  it  is  a  grand 
total  —  and  you  pay  it,  objurgating  because  it  is  a  trifle  over 
twice  what  it  should  be. 

Then  comes  the  long  array  of  servants,  the  chambermaid, 
the  boots,  the  elevator  boy,  the  head  waiter,  the  table  waiter, 
and  so  on,  all  of  whom  expect  and  plumply  demand  recognition, 
and  you  think  you  are  done.     But  you  are  not. 

Just  as  you  are  getting  into  the  carriage,  a  chambermaid, 
not  the  one  who  had  charge  of  your  room,  but  her  sister, 
appears  with  one  of  your  silk  handkerchiefs. 

"  Monsieur  forgot  the  handkerchief." 

She  extends  the  handkerchief  with  one  hand,  holding  out 
the  other  for  a  franc.  You  give  it  to  her  of  course,  knowing 
all  the  time  that  your  own  chambermaid  abstracted  it  and  gave 
it  to  her  for  the  purpose  of  wringing  the  last  possible  drop  of 
blood  out  of  you,  and  that  this  wretch  has  done  the  same  kind 
ofiice  for  your  chambermaid,  to  be  practised  upon  another 
victim  who  leaves  to-morrow. 

I  presume  the  landlord  compels  a  division  of  these  swindles, 
for  as  they  all  lay  awake  nights  to  devise  ways  and  means  to 
wrench  money  from  tourists  it  is  not  likely  they  would  let  so 
easy  a  source  of  revenue  escape  them. 

Here  everybody  takes  gratuities,  even  excelling  the  English 
in  the  practice. 

There  is  a  story  which  comes  in  here  by  way  of  illustration. 
An  old  lady  had  a  case  m  court  which  was  going  slowly.  She 
desired  more  speed,  and  asked  an  old  man,  who  was  supposed 
to  know  everything,  how  she  could  accelerate  the  matter. 

"  Give  your  lawyer  twenty  francs." 

"What!  will  the  grave  and  great  man  take  twenty  francs? 
Would  he  not  throw  the  money  in  my  face  and  feel  so  insulted 
that  he  would  throw  up  my  case  ? " 

"He  might,  but  I  can  tell  you  how  to  know  whether  he 


4Y2  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

will  take  the  gratuity  or  not.  When  you  come  into  his  pres^ 
ence  observe  his  mouth.  If  it  runs  up  and  down  his  face  don't 
offer  it  to  him,  for  he  would  not  take  it.  But  if  his  mouth 
runs  across  his  face  offer  it  with  confidence.  Every  man  in 
Switzerland  whose  mouth  is  cut  crosswise  the  face  will  accept 
a  gratuity." 

It  so  happened  that  in  sailing  up  the  lake  the  question  of 
piracy  came  up, —  it  grew  out  of  a  discussion  of  the  charges  at 
the  various  hotels  —  when  Tibbitts  broke  in  with  that  calm 
confidence  that  distinguishes  the  young  man: — 

"  I  have  been  giving  the  matter  of  piracy  most  serious  con- 
sideration, its  rise,  decline  and  fall.  Formerly  pirac}^  was 
everywhere  on  the  high  seas.  Adventurous  spirits  manned 
vessels  which  were  built,  armed  and  sent  out  by  wealthy  cor- 
porations, their  business  being  to  capture  merchant  vessels,  cut 
the  throats  of  the  male  passengers  and  crew  and  confiscate  the 
property.  In  those  halcyon  days  money  was  gold  and  silver, 
and  the  pirates  after  capturing  a  rich  prize  sailed  their  vessels 
to  some  point  on  the  Spanish  main,  where  there  was  a  conven- 
ient cove,  captured  a  Spanish  village,  murdered  the  men,  and 
made  such  love  to  the  women  that  they  very  soon  preferred  the 
picturesque  villains  to  their  virtuous  but  common-place  and 
insipid  (because  honest)  husbands.  And  there  they  lived ;  gaily 
dancing  fandangos  and  boleros,  under  the  shade  of  palms,  to 
the  soft  pleasings  of  the  lute,  till  the  money  was  spent  (by  the 
way  I  never  could  see  how  they  spent  money  in  such  places 
after  they  had  killed  all  the  shop-keepers  and  saloon  men)  and 
then  they  sailed  sweetly  out  to  be  a  scourge  of  the  seas  once 
more. 

"  It  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  a  pirate  in  those  days. 

"  The  first  blow  this  industry  received  was  the  invention  of 
sight  draft,  by  which  money  could  be  transmitted.  The  pirate 
who  seized  drafts  couldn't  forge  the  names  necessary  to  their 
collection,  to  say  nothing  of  the  risk  of  presenting  himself  at 
a  bank  in  London  to  collect  them. 

"  The  second  and  severest  blow  was  the  introduction  and 
general  use  of  dollar  jewelry.  DoUar  jewelry  has  done  more 
for  the  suppression  of  piracy  than  the  Christian  rehgion. 
Imagine  a  pirate  captain  parading  the  crew  of  a  captured  ship 


PIKACY    ON    LAKE    ERIE.  473 

to  despoil  their  persons  before  inviting  them  to  walk  the  plank, 
the  hungry  sharks  about  the  vessel  in  joyful  —  not  jawful  — 
anticipation.  Imagine  his  disgust  at  tearing  out  a  pair  of  ear- 
drops from  a  lady's  ears  of  the  size  of  hickory  nuts,  that  ought 
to  be  worth  thousands,  and  finding  them  Parisian  imitation 
stones  set  in  oroide  gold.  Such  experiences  were  heart-break- 
ing. Who  would  cut  a  throat  for  oroide  gold  with  imitation 
stones  ? 

''  A  score  of  daring  spirits  once  organized  a  piratical  party 
for  a  steamer  on  Lake  Erie.  We  proposed  to  take  passage 
Sundays,  when  there  were  excursions;  to  murder  the  excur- 
sionists, and  throw  their  bodies  over  to  the  catfish,  the  nearest 
approach  we  have  to  sharks  on  the  lakes.  Our  first  attempt 
was  our  last.  There  was  an  excursion  from  Indiana,  the  party 
numbering  eight  hundred.  We  had  a  contract  with  a  gentle- 
man named  Moses  for  their  clothes,  so  much  a  dozen  for  stock- 
ings, shirts,  and  so  on,  as  they  run ;  and  the  money  and  jewelry 
we  proposed  to  divide  among  the  party,  each  one  disposing  of 
his  share  of  the  plunder  as  he  pleased. 

"It  was  a  disgusting  failure.  We  discovered  that  the 
passengers  had  spent  all  their  money  in  purchasing  round 
tickets  for  the  excursion,  they  had  brought  their  lunches  with 
them  in  baskets,  and  there  wasn't  a  single  piece  of  anything 
but  dollar  jewelry  among  them ;  and  as  for  their  clothes  — 
Mr.  Moses  was  on  board,  and  he  looked  over  the  lot  and  begged 
us  not  to  inaugurate  our  slaughter,  as  "  'selp  him,  he  vouldn't 
gif  tventy-fife  tollar  for  all  as  it  stood."  We  stood  idly  by, 
endured  the  excursion  ourselves,  and  were  even  reduced  to  the 
ineffable  chagrin  of  paying  for  our  own  dinners  and  refresh- 
ments. The  dashing  captain  actually  begged  his  dinner  of  an 
old  lady  in  spectacles. 

"  That  was  the  last  effort  at  pirac}^  on  the  lakes,  and  it  is 
about  the  same  on  the  high  seas.  Drafts  and  dollar  jewelry 
have  tamed  the  adventurous  spirit  of  the  buccaneer,  and  driven 
them  all  into  keeping  hotels  in  Switzerland,  the  captains  as 
proprietors,  the  second  officers  as  head-porters,  and  the  crew  as 
waiters,  chambermaids,  etc.  They  are  doing  as  well,  probably, 
as  before,  and  by  similar  methods,  though  piracy  has  lost  its 
picturesqueness.     Your  pirate,  instead  of  wearing  a  broad  hat 


474: 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


and  a  picturesque  sash,  and  all  that,  is  clad  in  sober  broadcloth, 
with  a  white  necktie ;  his  cutlass  is  transformed  into  a  pen,  the 
deck  of  his  vessel  is  the  floor  of  the  corridor  of  his  hotel.  But 
he  preys  upon  mankind  the  same  as  of  old.  It  is  the  method 
only  that  is  changed.  Dollar  jewelry  don't  affect  them, 
except  in  cases  where  the  landlord  has  to  seize  baggage  for  his 
bill.     Sometimes  he  comes  to  grief  then,  but  not  often." 


*'  YOUR  HOTEL  IS  A  SWINDLE,  SIR  I 


One  of  the  most  amusing  things  connected  with  the  hotels 
is  the  final  talk  that  ensues  when  the  traveler  has  paid  his  bill, 
and  is  buttoning  up  his  coat  for  departure. 

"  Your  hotel  is  a  swindle,  sir,  and  I  will  never  darken  its 
doors  again.  I  will  take  especial  pains  to  inform  my  friends, 
sir.  This  bill  is  an  outrage,  sir,  an  outrage !  and  my  friends 
shall  know  of  it ! " 

"  Out,  Monsieur,"  says  the  landlord,  bowing  gracefully  and 
grimacing  as  expressively  as  a  monkey. 

The  plundered  guest  tells  everybody  not  to  go  to  the 
National,  but  by  all  means  go  to  the  Beau  Kivage,  not 
knowing,  poor  soul,  that  the  very  minute  he  was  abusing, 
justly  abusing,  the  proprietor  of  the  ^Rational,  another  man 


THE    IKATE    GUEST.  ^  4Y5 

just  like  him  was  abusing  the  proprietor  of  the  Beau  Rivage, 
and  that,  while  he  is  sending  guests  to  the  Beau  Rivage,  the 
swindled  Beau  Rivager  is  sending  his  friends  to  the  National. 

"  Ze  zentleman  ees  offend,"  smirkingly  remarked  the  land- 
lord of  the  National,  after  one  of  these  scenes ;  "  vera  goot. 
He  sents  all  hees  frients  to  ze  Beau  Rivage.  The  proprietor 
of  ze  Beau  Rivage  ees  my  f rere  —  vat  yoo  call  'im,  eh  ?  —  bruz- 
zer.     Ye  ees  in  partnersheep." 

And  so  it  is.  All  the  hotel  men  are  in  partnership,  and, 
besides  this  powerful  leverage,  they  know  that  so  many  come 
every  year,  anyhoAv;  that  those  flayed  at  the  National  this 
year  will  go  to  be  fleeced  at  the  Beau  Rivage  next,  and  so  on 
around. 

Despite  this  modified  piracy,  Geneva  is  a  pleasant  and 
hospitable  place  to  visit,  and  one  difficult  to  leave.  It  is  a 
thoroughly  enjoyable  old  city,  and  life  there  was  very  full. 
There  is  just  enough  quaintness  in  its  queer,  rambling  streets 
to  make  one  wish  to  be  constantly  exploring  them,  hoping,  yet 
fearing,  that  he  would  get  lost.  It  was  an  especial  delight  to 
go  across  the  river  and  proAvl  among  the  steep,  narrow  streets 
that  end  finally  against  a  dead  wall ;  to  scale  high  hills,  with 
old  fashioned  houses  forming  alleys  so  narrow  that  two  people 
could  scarcely  pass.  We  loved  to  plunge  into  dark,  forbidding 
passages,  groping  our  way  along  under  houses,  until,  when 
least  expected,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  bright,  well-paved  street 
in  another  portion  of  the  town. 

And  then  the  long  rambles  on  the  lake  shore,  especially  at 
night,  when,  far  off  in  the  distance  could  be  seen  the  twinkling 
lights  of  the  city  on  both  sides  of  the  lake,  connected  by  a 
tiny  belt  of  light  across  the  bridge  that  connected  the  old 
with  the  new. 

And  the  concerts  at  the  Jardin  du  Lac,  a  pleasant  garden 
with  trees  and  flowers  and  fountains,  on  the  south  bank  of  the 
lake,  where  a  fine  orchestra  furnishes  exquisite  music  during 
the  soft,  balmy  Summer  evenings.  Ah!  those  were  indeed 
days  and  nights  of  rare  enjoyment. 

Geneva  is  divided  into  two  sections ;  one  as  distinct  from 
the  other  as  an  Indiana  cabin  is  from  the  cathedral  at  Cologne. 
On  the  one  side  of  the  rivei;  it  is  the  same  as  the  freshly  built 


476  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

and  lively  looking  streets  of  a  new  American  city.  You  see 
the  modern  cornice  on  the  roofs  and  over  the  windows,  the 
elegant  plate  glass  fronts  to  the  shops,  the  massive  buildings 
for  the  factories,  the  orthodox  basement  dwellings  in  the  main 
part  of  the  city,  and  the  modern  villas  with  ample  grounds 
farther  out. 

This  is  the  new  part,  the  part  created  by  the  latter  day 
Swiss,  who  were  compelled  by  the  reconstruction  of  Paris  to 
modernize  and  wipe  out  the  old  to  make  room  for  the  new. 
There  is  less  of  reverence  in  a  dollar  than  in  anything  else  in 
the  world.  The  owner  of  a  historical  old  rookery  didn't  care 
a  straw  for  the  associations  connected  with  his  premises ;  what 
he  wanted  was  rent,  and  so  the  quaint  old  piles  were  demol- 
ished and  new  buildings,  modeled  after  the  new  Paris,  went 
up  in  their  stead.  The  uncomfortable  okl  streets  were  widened 
into  something  like  boulevards,  the  beautifully  smooth  and 
clean  asphalt  pavement  took  the  place  of  the  wretched  old 
bowlders,  and  everything  that  was  old,  no  matter  whether  its 
savor  was  of  the  Puritanic  Calvin,  or  the  antedating  monk, 
was  bundled  out  of  the  way  with  as  little  reverence  as  a  Crom- 
wellian  soldier  displayed  in  cleaning  out  an  English  or  Irish 
monastery. 

But  the  other  side  of  the  river  has  escaped  the  hand  of  the 
vandal,  and  whoever  hungers  for  the  uncomfortable  past  can 
find  all  he  wants  of  it.  The  streets  are  as  wretched  as  the 
most  exacting  could  desire,  and  the  houses  run  up  as  many 
stories  as  you  choose,  and  the  old  notion  of  a  building  being 
so  high  that  you  have  to  look  twice  to  get  to  the  top  of  it,  is 
well  nigh  realized.  Yery  like  the  conductor  who  was  boasting 
of  the  speed  of  his  train : 

"Thunder,"  says  he,  "we  passed  Millgrove  so  fast  that  the 
station  master  had  to  call  out  the  telegraph  operator  to  help 
him  ketch  a  glance  at  us." 

There  are  passages  so  tortuous  and  cavernous,  built  for  no 
earthly  purpose  that  any  one  can  divine  now-a-days,  buildings 
like  small  Alps,  with  the  quaintest  windows,  the  most  absurd 
staircases,  and  the  most  inconvenient  arrangements,  shops  in 
passages  so  dark  as  to  require  artificial  light  in  mid-day,  and 
human  habitations  in  these  underground  burrows. 


TOO   MUCH   MUSIC.  477 

Old  Geneva,  like  Old  Paris,  has  a  musty  smell  and  ancient 
flavor  that  is  delightful,  if  you  do  not  have  to  live  in  it. 

On  the  other  side  you  are  oppressed  with  watches  and 
music  boxes,  the  manufacture  of  which  support  the  city.  In 
the  matter  of  watches  Geneva  is  not  so  absolute  as  she  was, 
for  the  inventive  Yankee  makes  a  better  watch  than  the 
Genevan  hand- worker.  We  do  not  make  so  many  kinds  or  so 
curious  specimens  of  horology,  but  for  substantial  wear  and 
constant  use,  the  American  watch  is  conceded  even  by  the 
Genevan  to  be  the  best. 

But  in  music  boxes  and  every  species  of  musical  machinery, 
Geneva  has  no  rival.  At  your  hotel  the  doors  of  some  of  the 
grand  halls  reel  off  snatches  of  opera  as  they  swing  upon  their 
hinges,  the  caraffe  from  which  you  pour  your  water  at  table 
sings  an  air  as  the  water  gurgles  from  its  mouth,  and  you  shall 
see  beautiful  trees  with  gorgeous  birds  hopping  from  limb  to 
limb,  and  all  singing  deliciously  and  naturally.  Snuff  boxes, 
tobacco  boxes,  cigar  cases,  everything  of  the  kind  has  a  musical 
attachment,  that  discusses  sweet  melody  whenever  opened.  In 
short,  there  is  such  a  wealth  of  melody,  and  it  comes  to  you 
from  such  unexpected  quarters,  that  one  gets  rather  tired  of  it, 
and  wishes  he  could  go  somewhere  to  get  out  from  under  it. 

A  perpetual  concert  is  rather  too  much  of  a  good  thing. 
And  they  get  prices  for  these  goods,  too.  My  friend,  the  faro 
bankeress,  who  has  about  as  much  of  an  idea  of  music  as  a  pig 
has  of  the  Greek  Testament,  paid  five  thousand  dollars  for  a 
tree  with  singing  birds,  because,  I  presume,  the  price  was  five 
thousand  dollars.  Had  it  been  fifty  dollars  I  doubt  if  she 
would  have  taken  it. 

It  didn't  matter  to  her.  Her  husband's  establishment 
could  win  that  amount  any  night,  and  it  pleased  her  to  astonish 
the  manufacturers  of  these  airy  nothings,  with  her  prof usen ess 
of  expenditure.  I  saw  a  duphcate  sold  to  a  man  who  knew 
something  about  these  things  for  one  thousand  dollars.  These 
sellers  of  whims  know  their  customers  at  sight. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

SWITZERLAND SOMETHING    MORE    ABOUT    GENEVA    AND    THE    SWISS 

OF    THAT    ILK THE    LAKE    AND    KIVER. 

Some  one  remarked  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Henry  Ward  Beecher^ 
before  he  had  the  Httle  difference  with  Mr.  Theodore  Tilton, 
and  was  editing  the  Independent^  "  Mr.  Beecher,  I  like  your 
paper.  You  had  a  religious  article  in  the  last  number,  l^ow 
I  think  it  is  the  correct  thing  for  a  church  paper  to  have, 
occasionally,  a  religious  article."  So,  in  a  record  of  travels,  I 
think  it  entirely  proper  to  say  something,  occasionally,  about 
the  country  the  traveler  explores. 

The  lake,  at  one  end  of  which  sits  the  beautiful  though 
much  mixed  Geneva,  is  known  abroad  as  Lake  Geneva,  but 
here  as  Lake  Leman,  the  name  given  it  by  the  Romans  who 
once  occupied  this  country,  as  they  did  every  other  country 
they  could  reach  and  conquer.  The  inlet  to  the  lake  is  the 
River  Rhone,  and  so,  likewise,  is  its  outlet ;  which  is  to  say,  the 
lake  is  simply  a  widening  of  the  river,  a  huge  goitre,  as  it 
were,  on  the  lovely  neck  of  that  beautiful  stream. 

The  Rhone  collects  the  waters  that  fall  on  the  south  side  of 
the  chain  of  mountains,  as  the  Rhine  does  the  water  drainage 
of  the  north  side,  and  is  created  originally,  and  fed  as  it  goes, 
by  the  glaciers  that  adorn  the  mountain  sides,  and  support 
Switzerland  by  attracting  tourists. 

At  the  top  of  the  mountains  there  is  snow,  soft,  regular 
snow,  which  slides  down  fissures,  and  which,  as  it  gets  down 
the  slides,  changes  from  snow  to  ice.  It  melts  slowly  all  the 
Summer,  the  water  seeking  the  bottom  of  the  field  of  ice,  but 
its  thickness  being  constantly  maintained  by  fresh  supplies  of 
snow  from  the  top. 

(478)     . 


THE   KHONEi  479 

This  water  brings  out  of  the  mountains  all  sorts  of  mate^ 
rial,  rocks  and  earth,  which  fill  the  streams  that  come  down 
the  mountain  side  in  -swiftly  flowing  streams  which  lose  them- 
selves in  the  river  in  the  valley  below. 

The  Rhone  flows  past  Sion,  Martigny,  Bex,  and  other 
points,  till  it  falls  into  Lake  Leman,  as  beautiful  an  inland 
body  of  water  as  there  is  in  Europe,  and  almost  as  beautiful 
as  some  of  the  American  lakes. 

Before  and  at  its  entrance  into  the  lake,  the  water  of  the 
Rhone  is  as  muddy  as  the  Mississippi  at  St.  Louis.  It  is  about 
the  color  of  cheap  restaurant  coffee,  but  the  lake  acts  as  a 
great  settling  bed,  or  filter,  or  both;  and  by  the  time  the 
water  finds  itself  in  its  new  location  it  becomes  the  most  pure 
and  limpid  of  any  in  Europe.  The  water  in  the  lake,  which 
was  so  muddy  and  discolored  in  the  river  above,  becomes  so 
pure  and  limpid  that  the  fish  may  be  seen  disporting  them- 
selves in  its  lowest  depths,  and  the  minute  pebbles  on  the 
bottom  are  distinctly  to  be  seen. 

Geneva  is  at  the  lower  point  of  the  lake,  and  the  Rhone, 
which  was  buried  in  it  at  the  upper  end,  is  resurrected  at 
Geneva,  and  issues  therefrom  in  a  stream  of  fearful  rapidity. 
The  waters  spring  out  from  the  lake  with  a  fall  that  would  be 
called  rapids  in  America,  and  rush  through  the  city  actually- 
singing  as  if  with  joy  at  its  deliverance.  It  rushes  out  as  if  it, 
spurned  all  impediments  of  shore  that  kept  it  into  a  well 
behaved  and  quiet  lake,  and  as  if  anxious  to  get  the  freedom 
of  rushing  through  the  valleys,  over  rocks,  and  tumbling 
around  generally  in  a  free  and  easy  way  till  it  runs  its  race 
and  loses  itself  forever  in  the  common  sepulchre  of  all  rivers^ 
the  great  sea. 

Laundrying  is  done  in  Geneva  as  it  is  in  Paris.  Anchored 
in  the  river  are  large  boats  arranged  for  wash  houses.  In 
these  floating  temples  are  furnaces  which  supply  hot  water, 
and  plank  tables  at  which  the  washerwomen  do  their  work. 
The  garment  is  taken  and  swashed  in  the  hot  water  of  the 
floating  laundry,  then  they  are  religiously  and  conscientiously 
soaped,  and  placed  upon  these  thick  tables,  and  pounded 
with  a  wooden  paddle  till  the  soap  and  water  is  driven 
completely  through  them.  Then  they  are  rinsed  in  the 
swift  running  water  of  the  Rhone,  and  pounded  more,  and 


480 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


;$^/-^, 


rinsed  and  rinsed  again,  till  they  come  out  as  white  as  the 
snow  from  which  comes  the  water. 

These  nymphs  of  the  paddle  and  soap-kettle  are  industrious 
workers,  with  strong  muscular  arms  that  seem  capable  of 
doing  any  kind  of  work,  as  indeed  they  are.  It  is  no  small 
matter  to  carry  down  to  the  river  the  enormous  bundles  of 
superlatively  filthy  clothes,  and  after  the  soaping  and  beating 
and  wringing,  carrying  them  home  wet  and  heavy.  But 
possibly  there  are  no  more  pounds  to  carry  home  than  they 
brought.     There  is  added  weight  in  the  water  they  hold,  but 

the  dirt  is  gone 
down  the  river  to 
form  bars  below 
and  impede  navi- 
gation. Possibly 
the  loss  of  the  dirt 
balances  the  in- 
creased weight  of 
^^the  water.  It  is 
a  stand-oif. 

These   women 

II  earn  a  good  living, 

for  there  is  any 

quantity   of   laun- 

drying  to  do,  not 

from  the  citizens, 

but    from    the 

horde    of    tourists 

who  throng  the 

GROUP  OF  SWISS  GIRLS.  city  and  make 

Geneva  their  headquarters  for  the  Alpine  tour,  and  who  here 

lay  in  a  fresh  stock  of  linen. 

The  Genevan,  like  all  other  men  of  French  or  partially 
French  extraction,  is  a  tremendous  worker,  and  this  includes 
the  female  as  well  as  the  male.  The  male  Genevan  is  up  with 
the  lark,  or  whatever  bird  in  Switzerland  has  the  disagreeable 
habit  of  early  rising,  and  his  labor  continues  as  long  as  he  can 
see,  and  even  after.  And  he  works,  not  in  a  perfunctory  sort 
of  way,  but  tackles  his  business  as  though  he  was  doing  it  for 


A    GENEVAN    BAKERY. 


481 


the  simple  liking  of  it.     He  is  a  most  persistent  and  rapid 
worlier. 

I  was  exploring  the  old  part  of  the  city  one  night,  and  in 
groping  through  the  narrow,  half-underground  passages,  I 
came  upon  a  baker's  shop.  As  I  wanted  to  get  at  the  secret  of 
the  delicious  bread  for  which  the  French  are  famous,  I  investi- 
gated.    It  was  a  scorching  night,  but  nevertheless  there  was  a 


THE  SWEAT  OF  OTHER  MEN'S   BROWS. 

roaring  oven,  heated  seven  times  hotter  than  any  furnace  I  had 
ever  read  of,  except  one.  In  front  of  this  furnace,  were  the 
mixing  and  kneading  troughs,  and  at  them,  in  a  space  of  not 
more  than  twenty  feet  square,  were  a  score  or  more  of  men 
naked  to  the  waist,  with  perspiration  pouring  from  every  pore, 
at  work  at  the  stiff  and  tenacious  dough.  They  would  lift  a 
mass  of  it  half  as  large  as  their  bodies,  arid  slap  it  about,  and 
pull  it  out,  and  compress  it,  and  elongate  it,  and  torture  it  in 
all  sorts  of  shapes,  and  in  every  way  possible  for  dough  to  be 
tortured.  It  Avas  as  hard  manual  labor  as  I  had  ever  seen  per- 
formed. 

31 


482  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

And  finally  after  the  dough  had  been  tormented  a  suiScient 
length  of  time  it  was  formed  into  rolls,  G.\e  or  six  feet 
long,  and  not  more  than  six  inches  in  diameter,  and  placed  in 
the  oven,  from  whence  it  emerged  the  most  deliciously  crisp 
bread  that  ever  was  eaten,  and  entirely  different  from  the 
heavy,  soggy  English  bread  which  has  dyspepsia  in  every 
crumb  of  it. 

The  secret  of  this  light,  delicious  crustiness  is  not  only  in 
the  form  in  which  it  is  baked,  but  also  in  the  thoroughness  of 
the  kneading.  It  is  worked  over  and  over,  till  it  is  as  smooth  as 
silk  all  the  way  through,  and  as  light  as  a  feather.  Such 
bread  needs  no  butter  (and,  by  the  way,  very  little  is  used)  and 
may  be  eaten  with  gustatory  delight  anywhere,  and  at  any  time. 

Still,  a  person  who  has  to  eat  bread  had  better  not  go  and 
see  it  made,  on  the  same  principle  that  a  wise  old  boarder  of 
experience  never  ventures  near  the  kitchen.  "Where  igno- 
rance is  bliss,"  etc.  The  industry  and  conscientious  persever- 
ance of  the  kneaders  cannot  be  too  highly  commended,  but  the 
consumer  of  their  product  had  better  remain  in  ignorance  of 
the  perspiration.  I  prefer  not  to  live  upon  the  sweat  of  other 
men's  brows.     There  are  seasonings  more  to  my  taste. 

One  of  the  very  pleasant  things  in  Switzerland,  and  France 
as  well,  is  the  perfect  system  of  roads  everywhere,  and  the 
care  taken  to  shade  the  roads.  The  road-beds  are  marvels  of 
excellence,  and  well  would  it  be  for  America  could  we  find  it 
in  our  people  to  pay  some  little  attention  to  this  important 
matter.  Whatever  else  may  be  slighted  the  roads  are  not.  In 
making  a  comparison  between  Swiss  roadways  and  American, 
I  take  into  consideration  the  fact,  that  Switzerland  is  old  and 
America  new,  and  that  the  present  Swiss  road  represents  the 
labor  of  hundreds,  or,  for  that  matter,  thousands  of  years, 
while  the  average  age  of  the  American  road  is  not  sixty  years. 
Still,  we  might,  and  should,  with  our  enterprise  come  nearer  to 
continental  roads  than  we  do. 

Everywhere  in  Svntzerland  the  earth  on  the  roadway  is 
removed  to  the  depth  of  four  or  more  feet,  and  pounded  stone, 
gravel  and  sand  are  deposited  in  its  stead,  gutters  on  the  side 
are  carefully  made ;  till  you  have,  to  travel  over,  a  beautifully 
rounded  way  which  never  can  be  wet,  and  never  anything  but 


SWISS   ROADS.  483 

solid  and  smooth.  Along  the  entire  length  there  are,  beside 
the  road,  small  piles  of  broken  stone,  and  at  regular  distances 
are  men  with  tools,  whose  business  is  to  keep  them  clean  and 
in  perfect  order.  Whenever  a  depression,  no  matter  how  slight, 
appears,  it  is  instantly  filled,  as  skillfully  as  a  tailor  puts  a 
patch  in  your  trowsers ;  thus  keeping  them,  everywhere  and 
always,  smooth,  uniform  and  clean. 

The  bridges  are  solid  masonry,  and  on  the  edge  of  decliv- 
ities  and  dangerous  places  are  solid  walls  of  stone.  Not  a 
point,  either  for  safety  or  comfort,  is  overlooked. 

.  They  are  rather  costly  to  make,  to  begin  with,  and  it  costs 
something  to  keep  tiiem  in  order,  but  it  pays,  after  all.  Enor- 
mous loads  are  hauled  over  these  smooth  roads,  and  the  wear 
and  tear  upon  horses,  vehicles  and  harness  is  reduced  to  well- 
nigh  nothing,  to  say  nothing  of  the  comfort  and  pleasure. 
Bad  weather  makes  no  difference  with  their  inland  trafiic,  for 
just  as  great  a  burden  can  be  hauled  in  wet  weather  as  in  dry, 
nor  does  frost  affect  them. 

1  would  that  every  American  farmer,  in  the  month,  say,  of 
March,  could  see  these  roads,  could  view  the  enormous  loads 
piled  upon  the  enormous  wagons,  and  see  with  what  ease  they 
are  moved.  Then  his  mind  should  go  back  to  his  own  coun- 
try, and  there  should  come  up  a  recollection  of  the  last  March, 
when  he  was  lashing  and  swearing  at  his  poor  horses,  who 
were  doing  their  level  best  to  pull  him,  in  an  empty  wagon, 
through  the  rivers  of  mud  we  call  roads.  A  Swiss  horse 
would  commit  suicide  were  he  taken  to  Illinois  in  Winter  or 
Spring. 

It  would  pay  America  to  imitate  Switzerland  in  this  partia 
ular.  Our  half-made  roads  should  be  at  once  abohshed,  and 
the  money  spread  out  over  ten  miles,  which  the  first  thaw 
obliterates,  should  be  used  in  making  one  mile  of  permanent 
road,  and  that  mile  should  be  extended  just  as  fast  as  the 
people  can  bear  the  burden.  The  Swiss  are  not  so  fast  as  we . 
are,  but  their  work,  when  once  done,  stays.  There  is  scarcely 
any  section  of  America  where  material  of  some  sort  is  not 
attainable  to  make  better  roads  than  the  wretched  apologies 
we  have  for  them.  Whoever  makes  himself  the  apostle  of 
good  roads  in  America  will  have  many  generations  to  rise  up 
and  caU  him  blessed. 


484  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

I^ext  to  the  perfection  of  the  roads  comes  the  delightful 
shade  that  is  over  them.  This  has  been  done,  not  spasmod- 
ically and  at  the  Avhim  of  the  people  residing  along  the  roads, 
but  it  is  a  government  matter,  and  as  much  care  is  taken  of  it 
as  of  the  roads.  On  either  hand  are  lines  of  beautiful  trees 
forming  a  most  delightful  arch  over  the  road,  and  the  shade 
is  as  grateful  to  the  horses  as  to  the  riders.  A  long  vista 
of  trees,  whose  branches  form  an  arch  over  the  roadway  is 
not  only  a  comfort,  but  it  gratifies  all  the  senses.  A  Swiss 
tree-bordered  road  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  sights  in  the 
country. 

We  cannot,  of  course,  compel  the  planting  of  trees  by  the 
roadside,  by  law,  but  if  the  farmers  of  America  could  be  made 
to  understand  the  beauty  and  comfort  there  is  in  it,  they  would 
do  it  of  their  own  free  will  and  accord.  'New  England  has 
shaded  roads,  and  some  scattering  parts  of  other  sections,  but 
it  should  be  made  general.  It  would  add  several  per  cent,  to 
the  value  of  every  farm,  to  say  nothing  of  the  perpetual  grati- 
fication it  would  afford.  We  have  the  best  shade  trees  in 
the  world,  and  the  cost  of  transplanting  is  comparatively 
nothing. 

Koad  shading  should  be  systematically  pushed  in  America, 
and  the  sooner  it  is  commenced  the  better. 

At  G-eneva  you  get  the  first  glimpse  of  the  Alpenstock 
people,  male  and  female.  They  are  a  queer  lot.  They  appear 
to  you  at  the  hotels  clad  as  follows :  The  men  with  a  sort  of 
blouse  bound  by  an  enormous  belt,  for  which  there  is  no 
earthly  use,  short  knee  breeches  with  w^oolen  stockings  reach- 
ing above  the  knee,  and  the  most  utterly  absurd  shoes  that 
ever  annoyed  the  human  foot.  The  soles  of  these  shoes  are  an 
inch  thick;  they  project  beyond  the  uppers,  and  are  studded 
with  nails,  as  if  the  wearer  had  joined  an  exploring  party 
which  would  require  eight  years  of  his  life,  and  make  neces- 
sary one  pair  of  shoes  that  should  exist  ail  that  time,  inasmuch 
as  he  would  be  far  beyond  the  reach  of  that  important  adjunct 
of  civilization,  a  cobbler.  Then  he  has  a  broad-brimmed  hat, 
with  a  clout  about  it,  hanging  down  behind,  and  a  vast 
assortment  of  baskets,  flasks  and  glasses,  and  all  sorts  of  appli- 
ances, provisions  enough  to  join  Livingstone  or  Stanley  for  the 
exploration  of  the  interior  of  Africa. 


FEMALE   CLIMBERS. 


485 


The  women  are  either  misses  of  seventeen  or  mature  women 
of  thirty-eight.  They  have  the  same  outfit  of  material  and 
differ  from  the  males  only  in  the  matter  of  dress.  Everythmo; 
that  savors  of  femininity  is  religiously  eliminated  (even  the 


THE   ALPINE   GUIDE. 


bustle  is  sacrificed),  heavy  underclothing  is  worn,  a  most 
ungraceful  skirt,  the  most  barbarous  English  shoes  appear  on 
feet  never  too  small,  and  their  entire  hideousness  is  made  pain- 
fully visible,  inasmuch  as  the  straight  skirt  never  reaches  below 
the  ankle. 


486  NASBr   IN   EXILE. 

The  Alpenstock  is  a  staff  perhaps  seven  feet  long,  of  ash> 
Very  stout,  with  a  hook  upon  one  end  and  a  spike  in  the  other. 

In  this  hideous  garb,  in  a  stern  sort  of  a  way,  as  though 
they  were  leading  a  forlorn  hope  and  never  expected  to  escape 
with  their  lives,  but  were  doing  it  as  a  sort  of  sacrificial  duty, 
they  ride  out  to  the  foot  of  the  Alps  somewhere,  as  safely  and 
in  as  much  luxury  as  though  they  were  in  rocking  chairs  in 
their  own  homes,  and  coming  to  the  hotel  thereat  they  pur- 
chase another  lot  of  climbing  apparatus,  and  hire  all  sorts  of 
donkeys  and  mules  and  guides,  and  after  a  day  or  so  commence 
the  ascent.  They  go  up  roads  that  are  so  plain  as  to  need  no 
guides,  on  donkeys  or  mules,  over  paths  that  could  be  walked 
as  well,  and  tiring  half  way  up,  stop  and  rest  and  never  go 
farther,  but  return,  with  their  mouths  full  of  lies.  Every 
mother's  son  and  daughter  of  them  claim  to  have  made  the 
full  ascent  of  the  peak  essayed,  and  having  read  themselves 
up,  talk  as  glibly  about  it  as  though  they  had  lived  upon  the 
mountains  all  their  lives,  and  knew  every  glacier  as  familiarly 
as  they  do  their  bedrooms. 

And  then  when  they  come  down  they  are  stared  at  by 
the  last  arrivals,  and  laughed  at  by  the  old  ones,  and  they  go 
to  a  shop  around  the  corner,  and  pay  several  francs  to  have 
the  name  and  date  of  the  ascent  of  the  mountains  in  the 
neighborhood  burned  in  upon  their  Alpenstocks,  which  they 
cart  all  over  Europe,  and  finally  hang  up  in  their  homes  as 
"  souvenirs." 

There  ought  to  be  an  Alpenstock  shop  in  l^ew  York,  where 
all  this  could  be  done.  It  would  save  a  deal  of  annoyance  to 
a  great  many  people  and  do  just  as  well. 

Did  i  ascend  any  of  these  mountains  ?  I  did  not.  Some 
of  my  party  did,  but  I  preferred  not  to  essay  it.  The  heat 
was  intense,  the  paths  are  not  good,  and  lifting  one's  self  by 
sheer  strength  up  sixteen  thousand  feet  is  not  the  thing  to  do, 
especially  when  you  may  read  it,  see  it  in  engravings,  and  even 
make  the  ascent  yourself  —  with  a  telescope — at  the  cost  of  a 
franc.  I  did  it  by  telescope,  and  have  never  regretted  it.  I 
could  buy  an  Alpenstock  just  the  same,  and  have  burned  in  it, 
"  Mont  Blanc,  July  20,  1881,"  just  as  well.  And,  as  they  all 
lie  about  it,  anyhow,  why  not,  if  you  are  going  to  lie,  com- 


A   PROPER    ASCENT    OF    MONT   BLANC.  487 

mence  lying  at  the  beginning,  and  save  labor?  If  tongue 
work  is  to  do  it,  why  not  use  your  tongue,  and  save  your  legs  ? 
Were  I  to  lie  at  all,  I  would  sooner  lie  from  the  door  of  the 
hotel  than  half  way  up  the  mountain. 

But  I  will  not  lie  at  all.  I  did  go  up  Mt.  Blanc,  perhaps 
five  hundred  feet,  to  the  very  foot  of  one  of  the  glaciers,  and 
saw  and  touched  it.  That  did  me.  I  had  seen  all  that  was  to 
be  seen,  and  I  was  glad  enough  to  get  back.  I  was  willing 
that  anybody  Avho  chose  should  do  the  remaining  fifteen 
thousand  feet;  five  hucdred  was  quite  enough  for  me. 


A   NON-PROFESSIONAL   LADY   TOURIST. 

It  is  a  most  amusing  thing  to  see  a  woman  with  this  absurd 
gown,  actually  glorying  in  looking  hideous,  with  her  ghastly 
blue  spectacles.  Alpenstock  in  hand,  ride  up  to  a  hotel  on  a 
mule,  and  march  boldly  into  the  grand  hall,  after  one  of  these 
fraudulent  excursions.  She  speaks  of  the  topmost  peaks  as 
though  she  had  been  there ;  she  talks  of  chasms  in  the  glaciers, 
of  the  risks  she  ran  because  the  ropes  were  not  exactly  right ; 
she  abuses  her  guide,  and  says  he  was  the  worst  she  ever  had, 
as  though  she  had  been  climbing  Alps  from  the  time  she  left 
off  short  dresses;  and  when  her  little  stock  is  run  out,  she 
goes  to  her  room,  and  reads  up  her  guide-books  and  such  local 


488  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

printed  matter  as  is  attainable,  and  commences  again.  She 
buys  Alpine  flowers  at  the  market  m  the  village,  and  sends 
them  home  as  gathered  on  the  mountains ;  she  has  all  sorts  of 
carved  work  which  she  swears  she  purchased  from  the  Alpine 
dwellers  who  make  it  (there  are  factories  of  these  "souvenirs" 
all  over  Switzerland) ;  and  she  loads  herself  with  all  sorts  of 
rubbish,  all  of  which  her  people  at  home  will  preserve  and 
cherish  as  carefully  as  though  the  lies  she  told  about  it  were 
truths.  There  are  enthusiasts  who  make  it  the  business  of 
their  lives  to  explore  the  Alps,  and  as  they  alone  take  the  risk, 
they  do  no  harm  if  they  do  no  good.  But  the  average  amateur 
climber  is  about  as  absurd  a  being  as  is  permitted  to  exist,  and 
inasmuch  as  there  are  thousands  of  them,  one  may  imagine 
what  an  offense  they  are. 

You  meet  all  sorts  of  queer  people  in  Europe,  and  as  many 
in  Switzerland  as  anywhere^  unless  it  be  Paris,  which  'is  a  com- 
mon sink  for  all  the  world.  I  met  in  Geneva  a  very  curious 
specimen,  whose  career  is  worth  a  place  in  history. 

He  was  the  son  of  one  of  the  most  wealthy  men  of  ^N^ew 
York.  His  father  had  made  some  millions  of  dollars  in  trade 
and  judicious  real-estate  investments,  and  brought  up  his  family 
as  all  rich  Kew  Yorkers  do.  The  young  man  had  gone  through 
college,  and  had  graduated  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth.  He  had 
learned  much  of  boating  and  base  ball,  and  was  one  of  the  best 
billiard  players  in  his  set.  Out  of  college  with  a  lot  of  knowl- 
edge that  he  could  make  no  use  of,  for  he  had  nothing  to  do  in 
life,  he  became  a  club  man  in  l^ew  York,  and  commenced  the 
pursuit  of  pleasure.  It  was  all  well  enough  for  a  time.  Yacht- 
ing occupied  him  for  two  seasons,  horses  took  his  attention  for 
two  more.  He  once,  in  desperation,  made  a  trip  in  a  wagon 
from  New  York  to  Montreal,  just  to  put  in  a  Summer,  with 
three  companions,  he  footing  all  the  bills.  Horses  palling  on 
his  taste,  he  entered  upon  a  life  of  general  and  miscellaneous 
dissipation,  and  finally  that  tired  him  and  he  was  without  an 
aim  in  life. 

He  had  hunted  pleasure  and  now  pleasure  was  hunting  him. 

In  despair  he  took  to  travel,  and  for  five  years  he  rambled 
from  one  capital  to  another,  seeing  everything  and  being  bored 
by  everything. 

Here  he  was  living  at  the  best  hotel,  in  the  best  style ;  he 


FEELING   AN    INTEREST    IN    SOMETHING.  489 

kept  a  servant  or  two,  and  had  oceans  of  friends,  as  every  man 
has  who  has  money,  but  hfe  to  him  was  a  curse.  He  had  noth- 
ing to  do. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  up  the  Alps  ? "  I  said  to  him. 

"  Bless  your  innocent  soul  I  have  been  up  the  Alps  a  dozen 
times.  There  isn't  a  dangerous  place  that  I  haven't  attempted^ 
nor  anything  that  is  regular  that  I  have  n't  done.    It  don't  pay.' ' 

He  had  seen  all  the  theaters,  all  the  stock  places  were  as 
familiar  to  him  as  the  alphabet,  and  as  for  the  dissipations  he 
had  so  tired  of  them  that  he  was  a  saint.  He  was  virtuous 
from  necessity. 

One  morning  I  asked  him  to  go  with  me  to  inspect  a 
machine  shop  which  was  one  of  the  lions  of  the  place.  For 
sheer  want  of  something  else  to  do,  he  put  on  his  coat  and 
went.  I  was  very  much  interested  in  some  of  the  processes 
which  were  new  to  me,  but  my  friend  yawned  through  the 
whole  of  it,  in  the  same  ennuied  way  that  was  manifest  since  I 
knew  him.  Finally  we  came  before  a  machine  known  in 
machinery  as  a  shaper.  It  was  a  powerful  tool,  which  went 
backward  and  forward,  cutting  at  each  forward  movement  a 
thin  thread  of  iron.  The  work  it  was  domg  was  cutting  a  slot 
in  a  shaft  of  iron.  The  shaft,  before  it  went  into  the  shaper, 
was  a  round  piece  of  iron.  Delancy  looked  at  it  with  the  first 
expression  of  interest  I  had  ever  seen  in  his  face. 

The  man  at  the  machine  had  nothmg  to  do  after  the  shaft 
was  put  into  the  "chucks"  but  to  sit  and  read  a  novel,  the 
machine  doing  all  the  work  with  regularity  and  accuracy. 

"Do  you  forge  this  shaft  originally?"  he  asked  the  man. 

"Certainly,  sir." 

"  How  long  does  it  take  you  to  cut  this  slot  m  it? " 

"About  four  hours." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  have  the  piece  of  iron  forged  with 
this  slot  made  down  to  within  say  a  quarter-inch  and  save 
nine-tenths  of  this  time  ? " 

"We  never  did  it  that  way,"  was  the  reply  of  the  man;  "it 
won't  do." 

"But  it  will  do,"  said  Delancy.  "That  shaft  can  be 
forged,  to  begin  with,  something  as  it  should  come  out,  and  it's 
a  cussed  waste  of  time  to  do  it  in  this  way." 


490  NA8BY    IN    EXILE. 

The  foreman  assured  him.  that  it  could  be  done  in  no  other 
way.  The  workmen  corroborated  the  foreman,  but  Delancy 
was  not  satisfied. 

That  evening  in  his  room  he  had  a  dictionary  of  mechanics, 
and  was  intent  upon  the  parts  relating  to  forging.  He  called 
my  attention  to  it,  and  swore  great  oaths  that  the  machinists 
were  a  set  of  asses,  and  that  they  hadn't  a  process  which  he 
could  not  better. 

The  next  mornmg  he  was  up  at  six  and  had  an  early  break- 
fast and  was  at  the  shop  driving  the  worknien  mad  with  his 
persistent  inquiries.  At  dinner  he  talked  of  nothing  but 
machines  and  machinery,  and  the  evening  he  devoted  to  whit- 
tling curiously  shaped  things  out  of  wood. 

Suddenly  he  disappeared.  One  morning  I  went  to  the 
shops  again,  and  who  should  I  see  in  a  greasy  suit  of  overalls, 
with  his  gold  eye-glasses,  but  a  man  who  looked  like  my  friend 
Delancy,  at  a  lathe. 

It  was  a  curious  transformation,  and  about  the  most  incon- 
gruous spectacle  I  had  ever  seen.  Here  was  a  man  with  gold 
eye-glasses,  a  diamond  ring,  thin  white  hands,  patent  leather 
boots,  with  greasy  overalls.  It  was  an  earnest  mechanic 
engrafted  upon  a  Broadway  exquisite. 

'^Do  my  eyes  deceive  me?" 

"They  do  not.  It  is  I,  Delancy.  ISTot  the  old  Delancy, 
but  an  entirely  new  one.     I  have  now  something  to  live  for." 

"Why  have  you  quit  the  hotel?" 

"  Because  I  want  to  associate  with  mv  fellows.  I  am  living 
with  them.  I  have  been  admitted  as  one  of  them,  and  they 
all  know  me  as  well  as  though  I  had  been  born  one  of  them, 
which  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had.  I  can  eat  something  now,  and 
their  beer  —  well,  with  a  lot  of  good  f eUows  it  lays  all  over  the 
champagne  I  have  always  paid  for.  You  see  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  demonstrate  to  these  ignoramuses  that  a  piece  of 
iron  can  be  forged  to  any  shape,  with  any  depression  in  it 
desirable,  and  that  these  men  at  the  lathes  and  shapers 
waste  ninety  per  cent,  of  their  time.  We  have  got  to  have 
machinery,  and  we  want  it  cheap.  I  have  something  to  live 
for.     I  shall  be  a  machinist." 

The  man  had  actually  bribed  the  master  of  the  works  to 


A   USEFUL   MAN   AT   LAST.  491 

accept  him  as  an  apprentice,  and  he  had  made  an  exceedingly 
good  one.  He  was  at  the  works  at  the  regular  hour,  and 
stayed  as  late  as  the  latest.  And  he  developed  wonderful 
genius  in  the  way  of  mechanics,  and  was  in  a  fair  way  to 
arrive  at  a  high  position  in  the  business. 

The  workmen  idoUzed  him.  He  dehghted  to  go  with  then^ 
evenings  to  the  cafes  they  frequented,  to  be  a  little  king  among 
them;  he  helped  the  sick  and  unfortunate;  he  took  some 
interest  in  their  concerns,  and  they  in  turn  did  everything 
possible  to  acquaint  him  with  the  practical  part  of  the  trade. 

'^  They  are  a  much  better  lot,"  he  said,  "  than  the  leeches 
who  used  to  hang  upon  me." 

He  invited  me  to  dine  with  him  one  day,  and  the  amount 
of  coarse  food  he  could  consume  —  this  man  who  had  not  had 
an  appetite  for  twenty  years  —  was  something  wonderful. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  declared,  he  was  absolutely 
happy.     He  had  something  to  do. 

Before  he  had  been  in  the  shop  a  week  he  showed  the 
master  how  the  iron  bar  could  be  forged  to  the  shape  required, 
and  how  two-thirds  of  the  time  at  the  machine  could  be  saved, 
and  he  succeeded  in  having  his  system  introduced. 

He  vows  that  he  will  stick  to  it  till  he  has  learned  his 
trade,  then  go  home  to  New  York  and  start  the  most  perfect 
machine  shop  on  the  continent,  and  that,  moreover,  he  will  be 
perfectly  happy  therein.  He  is  not  ennuied  any  more,  for  he 
has  found  something:  to  do.  There  are  others  who  would  do 
well  to  follow  his  example. 


CHAPTER   XXXli. 


CHILLON   AND   OTHER   POINTS. 


On  a  clear  bright  day,  the  hot  air  tempered  by  a  gentle 
breeze  wafted  down  from  the  ice-covered  mountains,  with 
others  we  left  Geneva,  to  cross  the  mountains  and  visit  Mont 
Blanc,  that  patriarch  of  the  Alps.  The  blue  waters  of  Lake 
Geneva  danced  and  sparkled  in  the  snnlight  as  our  steamer  sped 
along  towards  ISTyon. 

At  last  we  were  skimming  over  the  surface  of  that  wonder- 
ful body  of  water  whose  peans  have  for  hundreds  of  years  been 
sung  by  the  poets,  in  prose  and  verse,  of  all  countries.  Eos^ 
seau,  Yoltaire,  Byrcn,  Goethe  have  revelled  in  the  dehghts  of 
its  tranquil  beauty  and  celebrated  its  charms  in  immortal 
words.  And  it  is  indeed  a  fitting  theme  for  a  poet's  song. 
To-day  its  deep  blue  surface  is  broken  into  a  myriad  of  ripples. 
Here  and  there,  sailing  slowly  along,  are  large  barges  with  the 
graceful  lateen  sails  that  are  seldom  seen  except  upon  the 
Mediterranean.  The  shores  are  lined  with  rich  fohage,  the 
cedar  of  Lebanon  mingling  its  sweet  odor  with  that  of  the 
chestnut,  the  walnut  and  the  magnolia,  the  whole  enhvened 
with  pretty  villas  and  picturesque  hamlets. 

Though  more  beautiful,  Lake  Geneva  has  a  pecuharity  that 
is  enjoyed  by  Lake  Constance.  It  is  subject  to  a  change  of 
level.  At  places,  where  the  bed  of  the  lake  is  narrow,  the 
water  occasionally  rises  several  feet  above  the  ordinary  level, 
and  remains  so  for  half  an  hour  or  more,  this  too  without  any 
previous  warning  of  what  was  about  to  occur.  Another 
peculiarity  is  that  hidden  springs  oftentimes  break  forth  from 
the  bed  of  the  lake  and  form  a  current  so  smft  that  it  is  impos- 
sible, almost,  to  stem  the  tide.  These  springs  are  very  danger- 
ous to  oarsmen  and  are  nearly  as  badly  feared  by  the  fisher- 
men as  the  waterspouts  that  frequently  occur. 

(492) 


THE    INOPPORTUNE   YOUNG   MAN. 


493 


Here,  as  everywhere,  we  had  all  sorts  of  people  with  us. 
We  had  a  widower,  and  a  widow  with  a  daughter,  and  the 
widower  had  been  making  love  to  the  widow  all  the  way  from 
London,  which  the  widow  accepted  more  than  kindly.  Indeed, 
the  attentions  of  the  ancient  beau  had  become  so  marked,  that 
to  the  mind  of  any  widow  of  experience,  it  was  only  a  question 
of  time  as  to  a  proposal  direct,  which  she  was  waiting  for 
impatiently. 

Among  others  on  the  boat  was  the  Young  Man  who  Knows 
Everything,  who  has  studied  everything,  and  who  has  that 
rasping  memory  that  enables  him  to  retain  everything  he  ever 


THE  YOUNG  MAN   WITH  HIS  INOPFDBTUNE  REMARKS. 

read,  as  well  as  every  thought  that  ever  passed  through  his 
mind,  and  the  self-sufficiency  that  impels  him  to  thrust  his 
own  talk  at  you,  at  no  matter  how  inopportune  a  time,  and 
no  matter  how  inapplicable  it  may  be  to  whatever  is  being 
discussed.  He  will  discuss  a  question  with  you  to-day,  and 
when  in  his  bed  at  night  he  will  remember  something  that  he 
should  have  said  at  the  time,  and  break  in  upon  you  a  week 
after  with  the  omitted  remark,  with  no  preface,  no  explana- 
tion, taking  it  for  granted  that  any  discussion  you  ever  had 
with  him  was  of  sufficient  importance  to  take  full  possession 


494  NASBY   IN    EXILE. 

of  your  miiid  and  occupy  it  forever  and  forever.  He  had  had 
an  argument  with  the  widower  the  night  before  at  the  hotel  in 
Geneva,  upon  the  authority  of  the  Old  Testament,  which  the 
widower,  as  was  natural,  forgot  in  an  hour.  Our  widow  and 
widower  were  sitting  near  the  stern,  in  loving  proximity, 
discussing  quietly  the  loneliness  of  their  situation.  The  young 
man  was  waiting  very  close,  entirely  oblivious  of  what  they 
were  saying,  and  only  anxious  to  fire  off  his  charge. 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Redding,"  said  the  widower,  "when  one  has 
once  tasted  the  sweets  of  congenial  companionship — " 

In  broke  the  young  man : 

"It  was  the  old  dispensation,  and  is  not  binding  on  us 
to-day  at  all.  Therefore  you  needn't  do  everything  that 
Moses  put  upon  the  Jews;  but,  Mr.  Thompson,  you  can  just 
bet  your  sweet  life  that  you  are  perfectly  safe  in  not  doing 
anything  that  he  said  the  Jews  should  not  do." 

The  widower  looked  daggers,  and  the  widow  broadswords. 
As  handsome  a  proposal  as  was  ever  to  be  made  was  nipped  in 
the  bud  —  an  opportunity  for  the  widow  was  lost  which  might 
never  be  regained.  Who  could  tell?  Possibly  his  passion 
might  cool  off.  The  fish  was  hooked  but  not  landed,  and  this 
insufferable  argument-monger  was  the  cause  of  it. 

"  Blast  your  Moses,"  uttered  the  irate  widower.  "  Madam, 
if  there  is  any  part  of  this  boat  safe  from  the  intrusion  of 
young  men  who  dabble  in  Moses,  let  us  find  it." 

And  they  went  off,  leaving  the  young  man  not  at  all 
abashed.  He  merely  turned  to  an  amused  spectator,  with  the 
remark : 

"  That  man's  face  proves  the  correctness  of  the  Darwinian 
theory.  In  time  his  descendants  may  become  men.  I  was 
about  to  enlighten  him  on  an  important  subject,  but  he  would 
not." 

There  never  was  a  boat  loaded  with  tourists  which  did  not 
have  on  its  deck  the  man  who  was  doing  Europe  on  insufficient 
capital.  He  spent  money  freely  in  London,  Paris  nearly 
finished  him,  and  he  commenced  traveling  on  credit  in  Switz- 
erland. His  method  was  very  simple :  he  borrowed  a  hundred 
francs  of  every  man  he  thought  simple  enough  to  lend  it  to 
him.    It  was  always  the  same  story,  he  had  drawn  on  his  peo- 


THE    IMPECUNIOUS    T0UKI8T. 


495 


pie  at  home  and  would  liave  the  money  at  the  next  stopping 
place  hut  one.  Then  he  always  slipped  away  from  his  victim 
at.  the  next  stopping  place  and  was  seen  no  more.  We  had 
him,  but  he  did  not  suc- 
ceed. There  were  too 
many  old  travelers  in  the 
party. 

Geneva,  on  a  plateau 
above  the  level  of  the 
lake,  with  its  picturesque 
background  of  rugged 
mountains,  gradually 
melts  into  a  solid  mass  of 
buildings,  bridges  and 
parks  as  we  go  up  the 
lake,  past  the  mammoth 
hotels,  with  their  beau- 
tifully arranged  lawns 

and    gardens.      On  the  «  would  you  oblige  me  with  a  hundred 
left,    in  an    immense  francs  till  Saturday?" 

pleasure  park,  is  the  Eothschild  villa,  a  country  seat  as  beauti- 
ful as  the  surroundings.  For  miles  the  left  bank  of  the  lake  is 
lined  with  summer  residences,  nestling  among  the  lovely  groves 
of  fragrant  trees. 

On  the  right  bank,  a  range  of  hills,  starting  way  up  the 
lake,  rises  gradually  higher  and  higher  until  it  culminates,  appa- 
rently, in  Mt.  Blanc,  fifty-six  miles  away.  These  mountains, 
rugged  and  severe,  slope  gradually  down  to  the  bank  of  the 
lake,  which  is  lined  with  well  cultivated  farms. 

The  lake  is  a  study.  Its  bright  blue  waters  are  as  clear  as 
crystal,  the  small  white  pebbles  on  the  bottom  being  plainly 
discernable.  As  the  sharp  prow  cleaves  the  water  and  throws 
it  off  on  either  side,  the  hue  is  changed  into  a  dark  green,  mak- 
ing a  charming  contrast  with  the  unruffled  water  beyond,  which 
retains  its  peculiar  blue. 

Long  before  Nyon  is  reached,  the  white  buildings  of  Geneva 
have  faded  away  in  a  mild  rose  colored  haze,  through  which 
the  dim  outlines  of  the  mountains  can  just  be  seen. 

After  an  hour's  run,  full  of  beauty,  Nyon,  a  favorite  resting 


496  NASBT   m   EXILE. 

place  for  tourists,  is  reached,  and  the  steamer  stops  long  enough 
to  take  on  three  or  four  mountain  climbers,  who,  with  Alpen- 
stocks in  hand  and  knapsacks  on  back,  are  going  on  a  pedes- 
trian expedition  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake. 

The  sharp  pointed  roofs  of  J^yon's  houses,  its  quaint  streets, 
pretentious  hotels  and  historic  buildings  make  it  a  favorite 
resort  all  Summer  long. 

The  faro  bankeress  was  of  the  party,  she  and  her  husband. 
The  husband  looked  listlessly  into  the  blue  water,  and  enjoyed 
the  succession  of  beautiful  views,  and  studied  nature  in  all  its 
aspects,  with  a  party  of  kindred  spirits,  in  the  hot  cabin  below, 
over  a  game  of  euchre,  with  a  rapid  succession  of  orders  for 
cognac  and  water.  That's  all  he  saw  of  Lake  Leman.  He 
played  moodily,  as  though  the  time  taken  from  his  magnificent 
game  at  home  was  so  much  wasted.  Green  cloth  was  more  to 
him  than  emerald  water,  and  he  never  desired  to  see  an  eleva- 
tion greater  than  a  roulette  ball. 

His  wife  made  the  acquaintance  of,  and  fastened  herself  to, 
a  party  of  actual  tourists,  and  to  them  she  discoursed  volubly 
of  the  prices  of  silk  stockings  in  Paris,  and  of  dress  making  and 
millinery  and  kindred  topics.  There  was  one  young  girl  who 
really  had  the  eye  of  a  hawk  for  the  actually  beautiful,  who 
would  go  into  raptures  as  some  wonderfully  beautiful  view 
dawned  upon  us,  and  who  felt  an  enthusiasm  which  she  must 
share  with  somebody.  And  so  she  would  pull  the  faro  bank- 
eress by  the  sleeve,  and  interrupt  her  flow  of  talk. 

"And  then  you  see  these  stockings  are  —  " 

"  Oh,  Mrs. ,  do  look  at  that  mountain  with  the  cataract 

rushing  down  its  side !  " 

A  hasty  glance  at  the  wonderful  work  of  nature. 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear  —  it's  nice.  But  them  stockings.  Why, 
in  'New  York,  at  any  first-class  store  — " 

And  so  forth,  and  so  on. 

Tibbitts  was  gorgeously  arrayed  in  a  Parisian  suit,  with 
trowsers  very  wide  at  the  bottom,  and  cuffs  of  preposterous 
length  and  width.  He  discussed  all  sorts  of  abstruse  questions 
with  grave  German  professors,  neither  understanding  a  word 
of  what  the  other  was  saying,  and  so  he  passed  for  a  very 
wise  young  man.    More  men  would  be  so  esteemed  if  they 


TIBBITTS    AND    THE    JEW. 


497 


would  always  talk  in  language  which  nobody  can  understand. 
I  remember  of  being  wonderfully  impressed  with  tho 
profundity  of  a  J^ew  England  metaphysical  talker,  but  alas ! 
when  his  six   syllabled  words  were   translated  into  common 


English,  I 


"SEE  ME  UNMASK   THIS  JEW." 

wondered  at  the  stupidity  of   his  commonplaces. 

But  poor  Tibbitts  was  finally  conquered.     There  was  a  Jew 

on  board  who  was  selling  the  "  art  work  "  of  the  country.    He 

spoke  all  languages,  as  the  Continental  Jews  all  can.     Tibbitts 

admired  a  little  ivory  carving. 

''  What  is  the  price  of  it? " 

"My  tear  sir    ze  work  of  art  vill  be  given  avay  for  ze 
32 


4:98  NASBY    IN    PJXILE. 

redeecoolus  sum  oof  two  huntret  francs.  It  gost  me  dwice 
dot." 

Then  Tibbitts  winked  a  wank  of  intelligence  to  the  rest  of 
us,  as  if  he  should  say,  "  See  me  unmask  this  Jew." 

"I  will  give  you  five  francs  for  it." 

''  Fife  francs  ?  Fadder  Abraham,  but  you  laugh  at  me  !  I 
vill  dake —  but  no,  mine  friend,  dis  ees  a  bat  season —  you  dake 
him." 

Then  the  laugh  was  not  w^ith  Tibbitts.  The  "ivory  carv- 
ing" was  the  basest  kind  of  an  imitation,  and  would  be  dear 
at  a  half  franc.  And  Tibbitts  retired  sullenly  to  the  cabin 
below,  and  ail  the  way  up  his  American  friends  amused  them- 
selves by  asking  to  see  his  rare  ivory  carving. 

There  is  so  much  that  is  beautiful  on  this  side  that  time 
slips  away  without  notice,  so  that  when  Thonon  is  reached  it 
scarcely  seems  possible  that  it  has  taken  an  hour  to  make  the 
run  across  the  lake  from  Nyon. 

At  the  entrance  to  Thonon,  the  channel,  is  very  tortuous, 
and  once,  near  the  landing,  you  may  seek  in  vain  for  the 
entrance  or  the  way  out.  There  is  a  little  lake  all  by  itself, 
hemmed  in  on  every  side,  apparently,  by  mountain  and  forest. 

Surrounded  by  mountains,  Thonon  nestles  at  the  foot  of  a 
vineyard-covered  hill,  up  the  sides  of  which  low  houses,  with 
their  queer,  overhanging  roofs,  line  narrow,  angular  streets 
that  seem  to  be  too  steep  for  any  practical  use. 

High  up  the  side  of  the  hill  is  a  picturesque  terrace,  with 
pretty,  vine-clad  houses  on  the  site  of  the  old  ducal  palaces 
destroyed  by  the  Bernese  in  1536,  from  which  a  beautiful  view 
of  the  lake  and  surrounding  country  is  obtained. 

At  one  time  this  little  place  was  the  residence  of  the  Counts 
and  Dukes  of  Savoy,  it  still  being  the  capital  of  the  Savoyard 
Province  of  Chamblais.  The  vineyards  in  this  neighborhood 
produce  the  fine  white  wines  that  are  celebrated  the  world 
over. 

Touching  for  a  few  minutes  at  Evian,  a  favorite  resort  for 
wealthy  people  from  the  south  of  France,  with  its  pretty 
hotels,  charming  oak  shaded  promenades,  the  boat  sped  rapidly 
on  toward  Auchy,  crossing  the  lake  again.  Looking  up  the 
lake  the  mountain  ranges,  towering  high  above,  change  their 


ON   THE   LAKE.  499 

form  and  color  with  every  revolution  of  the  wheel.  Just 
ahead  of  us  on  the  right,  a  great  peak,  starting  abruptly  from 
the  water's  edge,  shoots  straight  up  into  the  air  for  a  thousand 
or  two  feet.  All  about  us  are  the  green  covered  hills,  forming 
a  rare  frame  for  the  picture  of  the  sun-lit  lake,  dotted  here 
and  there  with  a  lateen  sail,  and  the  slowly  drifting  smoke  of 
a  pleasure  steamer  that  skirts  along  the  shores.  At  this  point 
a  long  detour  is  made  around  a  huge  hill  that  juts  out  into  the 
water,  completely  shutting  out  the  view  on  the  right.  As  we 
passed  round  it,  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  wonder  invol- 
untarily burst  forth  at  the  sight  of  the  Tdte  Noire,  which  lay 
before  us,  with  its  lofty  peaks  crowned  with  eternal  snow. 

On  we  go,  past  pretty  little  villages,  any  one  of  which 
would  be  a  most  delightful  place  to  spend  the  Summer ;  past 
vineyards,  with  their  luscious  fruit  ripening  in  the  sun,  until, 
just  above  Chillon,  we  come  to  the  Castle  of  Chillon,  made 
famous  by  Byron. 

'  *  Chillon,  thy  prison  is  a  holy  place, 

And  thy  sad  floor  an  altar,  for  'twas  trod  — 
Until  his  very  steps  have  left  a  trace, 

Worn,  as  if  the  cold  pavement  were  a  sod  — 
By  Bonivard  !    May  none  those  marks  efface, 

For  they  appeal  from  tyranny  to  God." 

This  ancient  castle,  built  as  far  back  as  A.  D.  830,  stands  in 
a  picturesque  position  on  a  barren  rock  some  twenty  yards 
from  the  shore,  with  which  it  is  connected  by  a  wooden  bridge. 
Its  history  is  full  of  romance,  from  the  time  Louis  le  Debon- 
naire  incarcerated  within  its  gloomy  walls  —  from  which  but 
the  sky,  the  Alps,  and  Lake  Leman,  could  be  seen  —  the  Abbot 
Wala  of  Corvey,  for  instigating  his  sons  to  rebellion,  down  to 
the  reigns  of  the  Counts  of  Savoy,  who  used  it  as  a  militarv 
prison.  The  walls  of  its  dingy  dungeons  are  hterally  covered 
with  names  of  persons  who  have  visited  them,  among  others 
being  those  of  Byron,  Victor  Hugo,  George  Sands,  and  Eugene 
Sue. 

Here  in  Kepubhcan  Switzerland  the  traces  only  of  mon- 
archy remain,  for  which  the  Swiss  should  perpetually  thank 
heaven.  Everywhere  else  in  Europe  the  monster  actually 
lives  —  here  only  its  ghost  survives.  It  is  here  a  remembrance 
to  be  shuddered  at,  not  a  living  reality.    But  they  had  it  here 


500  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

once.  There  was  a  time,  and  the  Castle  of  Chillon  is  a  silent 
testimony  to  it,  when  a  duke  or  a  king,  who  claimed  to  be  of 
better  clay  than  ordinary  mortals,  could  seize  a  man  and 
immure  him  within  its  gloomy  walls,  just  as  Victoria,  by  the 
accident  of  birth.  Mistress  of  Britain,  may  order  the  arrest  of 
an  Irishman  who  opens  his  mouth  the  wrong  way.  Kihnain- 
ham  is  the  Irish  Chillon,  and  there  are  within  its  walls  men 
whose  hair  is  turning  gray,  not  in  a  single  night,  but  turning 
gray  just  as  surely. 

The  ancient  tyrants  who  lorded  it  over  Switzerland  were 
not  one  whit  worse  than  the  tyrants  who  now  lord  it  over 
Europe.  Eoyalty  is  royalty,  the  same  in  all  ages,  because 
based  upon  the  same  infernal  heresy.  It  is  the  absolute  rule 
of  a  class,  backed  by  organized  force. 

Switzerland,  America  and  France  have  repudiated  it,  and 
the  rest  of  the  civilized  world  will.  But  what  oceans  of  blood 
must  flow  before  all  this  is  accompHshed. 

In  order  to  be  a  complete  and  very  radical  Republican  one 
needs  to  visit  a  few  just  such  places  as  the  Castle  of  ChiUon, 
that  the  true  inwardness  of  monarchy  may  be  realized. 

As  the  castle,  so  full  of  historical  interest,  fades  away,  the 
boat  rounds  the  head  of  the  lake,  where  the  river  Rhone 
pours  its  gray  glacial  waters  into  the  brilliant  blue  of  the  lake, 
making  a  clearly  defined  mark  of  gray  and  blue  at  least  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  shore.  Then  Yernayaz  is  reached 
and  we  disembark  for  our  trip  across  the  Alps. 

As  the  boat  glides  up  to  the  dock,  the  ancient  castle,  built 
in  the  twelfth  century,  is  pointed  out.  Its  walls  and  towers 
are  very  massive,  and  bid  fair  to  stand  as  long  as  the  city 
endures,  l^ear  the  castle  is  a  chateau,  where,  at  one  time, 
Joseph  Bonaparte  lived.  It  is  now  the  property  of  the  Mora- 
vians, and  all  its  former  grandeur  is  sunk  in  the  abysses  of  a 
boys'  school. 

Just  opposite  the  town  the  Jura  mountains  have  entirely 
changed  in  appearance,  and  are  full  of  strange,  fantastic  peaks 
and  crags,  while  Mt.  Blanc,  always  visible,  presents  different 
faces  as  the  boat  changes  its  course,  always,  however,  grand 
and  fascinating. 


RURAL   SWITZERLAND. 


501 


SWISS   TIMBER  VILLAGE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIIl. 


FEOM    GENEVA   OVER   THE    AI.PS. 


A  SHORT  drive  over  one  of  those  wonderfully  hard,  smooth 
roads  that  make  carriage  traveling  in  Switzerland  so  delight- 
ful, and  we  are  at  the  hotel  at  the  Gorge  du  Trient,  whence^ 
early  in  the  morning,  we  are  to  begin  the  ascent  of  the  moun- 
tains. The  time  before  dinner  is  occupied  in  an  exploration  of, 
the  wildly  picturesque  gorge,  with  its  winding  foot-bridge  built 
alongside  the  cliffs,  over  yawning  chasms,  around  jutting 
bowlders  that  rise  to  such  a  height  that  the  sky  seems  like 
a  strip  of  blue  ribbon  suspended  high  above  our  heads.  At 
the  bottom  of  the  gorge  a  mountain  torrent,  springing  from 
some  unknown  nook  way  up  in  the  mountain,  comes  rushing 
and  tumbling  down  over  the  jagged  rocks,  foaming  and  whirl- 
ing, and  dashing  its  spray  high  in  the  air,  as  it  hurries  along 
to  join  the  Khone. 

The  slender  bridge,  at  times  hanging  apparently  without 
any  support  over  deep  pools  of  water,  seems  too  fragile  to  bear 
the  weight  of  a  person,  and  one  treads  lightly,  lest  the  frail 
structure  give  way,  and  he  be  precipitated  into  the  unfathom, 
able  abyss  below.  The  gorge  is  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
long,  and  is  wierdly  picturesque. 

After  dinner,  some  rash  member  of  the  party  suggested 
that  we  do  a  little  mountain  climbing.  Then  a  wager  was 
immediately  laid  that  no  one  had  the  courage  and  endurance 
to  go  to  the  summit  of  a  high  peak  near  by.  Of  course  the 
challenge  was  accepted,  and  the  whole  party,  there  were  three 
ladies  and  &Ye  gentlemen,  all  started  to  accomplish  the  easy 
feat.     It  looked  easy.     The  path  zigzagged  up  the  hill,  and 

(502) 


MOUNTAIN    CLIMBING. 


503 


was  provided  with  resting  places  at  stated  intervals.  Nothing 
could  be  more  delightful  than  to  skip  merrily  along,  like 
chamois,  clear  to  tlie  summit.     It   was  all  verv  well  for  the 


THE  SLENDER  BEIDGE. 

first  few  hundred  feet,  and  we  laughed  and  vowed  that  moun- 
tain climbing  was  not  such  a  terrible  affair,  after  all.  But  at 
the  first  resting  place  two  of  the  gentlemen  and  one  of  the 


504 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


ladies  announced  that  they  were  subject  to  heart  disease,  and 
dare  not  go  any  farther.     They  could  do  it,  but  it  Avas  a  duty 


A  BIT  OF  CLIMBING. 

they  owed  to  their  famihes  and  the  world  at  large  not  to 
tempt  death. 

At  the  next  resting  place  one  of  the  ladies  discovered  that 


THV.    PEESEVEKING    ONE.  505 

she  had  turned  her  ankle,  and  she  went  back.     She  danced  as 
briskly  as  usual,  however,  at  the  hotel  that  evening. 

Another  of  the  gentlemen  thought  it  his  duty  to  assist  her 
down  to  the  hotel.  This  left  but  three,  who  silently  lifted 
themselves  up  step  by  step  to  the  next  resting  place.  From 
thfs  the  view  was  something  unutterably  grand.  The  valley 
sweeping  out  to  the  lake,  the  mountains  on  the  other  side,  with 
the  clouds  kissing  their  summits,  the  fleecy  white,  pink-tinged 
by  the  setting  sun,  forming  a  beautiful  contrast  to  the  forbid- 
ding black  of  the  rocks,  and  the  dark  green  of  the  mountain 
foliage.  One  of  the  gentlemen  looked  up  to  the  dizzy  height 
still  before  him,  and  remarked  that  he  had  seen  as  much  gran- 
deur as  he  could  take  in  at  one  time,  and  down  hill  he  went. 

The  other  and  last  smiled  a  contemptuous  smile  as  he  disap- 
peared on  the  zigzag  path,  and  setting  his  teeth,  turned  his 
footsteps  lipward.  He  reached  the  summit,  and  waving  a 
small  American  flag  (which  he  always  carried  about  his 
person),  took  in  the  wonderful  view,  and  slowly  but  majes- 
tically descended. 

I  wiU  not  say  which  of  the  eight  persevered  and  made  the 
ascent.  It  is  a  fault,  a  common  fault,  in  travelers,  this  boasting 
of  their  own  achievements,  and  because  one  has  a  command  of 
type  and  presses  I  do  not  see  why  he  should  use  those  facilities 
to  record  his  own  performances.  If  any  one  else  of  the  party 
publishes  an  account  of  the  excursion  I  shall  see  my  name  in 
this  connection,  but  never  will  I  write  it. 

But  I — ^^or  rather,  that  is,  the  one  who  did  persevere  to  the 
summit,  was  rewarded  with  a  sight  that  amply  repaid  me  —  or 
him  —  for  my,  or  his  labor.  There  at  his  feet,  bathed  in  the 
light  of  the  sinking  sun,  was  the  valley  of  the  Ehone,  brilliant 
with  its  covering  of  green,  relieved  by  the  silvery  river  mean- 
dering through  its  center.  To  the  right,  crossing  and  cutting 
off  the  valley,  are  the  Bernese  Alps,  their  snow-covered  peaks 
glistening  in  the  sunlight.  It  was  a  magnificent  view,  giving 
us  a  good  idea  of  the  glories  of  nature  that  were  to  be  entered 
upon  on  the  morrow. 

When  the  Gorge  du  Trient  was  organized,  nature  must 
have  been  laboring  under  an  attack  of  cholera  morbus. 

At  some  remote  period  in  the  history  of  the  earth  there 


500  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Was  a  solid  mountain,  but  some  glacier,  or  earthquake,  or  other 
irresistible  force,  cleft  it  in  twain,  and  the  ever  present- Avater, 
nature's  slow  but  exceedingly  certain  worker,  poured  into  the 
chasm  to  finish  what  the  first  rude  force  commenced. 

There  is  a  great  plenty  of  water  stored  away  in  these 
mountains,  and  it  has  been  pouring  through  this  rent  in  the 
bosom  of  the  earth,  wearing  away  a  few  feet  here  and  a  few 
feet  there,  augmenting  in  volume  as  the  space  for  it  increased, 
until  it  has  become  a  wild,  resistless  torrent,  which  doesn't 
dance,  but  rushes  through  the  rocks,  till  after  its  brief  attack 
of  delirium  tremens  it  loses  itself  in  the  Rhone  and  finally  in 
Lake  Geneva,  and  becomes  as  quiet  and  well-behaved  as  you 
could  wish. 

The  scenic  artist  who  painted  "  The  Devil's  Glen "  in  the 
Black  Crook,  had  doubtless  visited  this  gorge.  If  devils  ever 
came  together  in  convention,  and  wanted  a  place,  the  horrible 
wildness  of  which  should  be  absolutely  satanic,  they  could  find 
it  here. 

The  rocks  on  either  hand  are  nearly  five  hundred  feet  high, 
and  the  ravine  twists  and  turns  in  every  direction,  the  sides 
approaching  each  other  so  nearly  at  every  turn  at  their  summit 
that  the  gorge  seems  to  be  but  an  immense  vaulted  cavern  with 
an  entirely  irresponsible  torrent  of  water  gyrating  through  it. 

It  drops  itself  down  sheer  precipices,  in  places  thirty  feet, 
and  everywhere  rushes,  it  never  dances,  but  rushes  with  an 
ugly,  wicked,  vindictive  rush,  a  cruel  rush,  a  resistless  force,  as 
if  it  wanted  to  catch  something  in  its  merciless  grasp,  and  toss 
it  against  rocks,  grasp  it  when  it  came  back,  and  hurl  it 
down  a  dizzy  fall  of  cruel,  jagged  rocks,  and  shoot  it  way  up 
the  side  of  the  gorge,  on  other  rocks,  and  finally  release  it  when 
pounded  to  a  jelly,  in  the  river  below. 

This  water  is  well-behaved  enough  when  it  reaches  the 
river,  but  up  here  in  the  gorge  it  is  the  wildest,  most  cruel, 
most  devilish  and  wicked  water  I  ever  saw. 

.Niagara  impresses  one  with  its  calm,  resistless  strength, 
Minnehaha  is  beautiful  enough  to  induce  one,  almost,  to  go 
over  it,  but  this  torrent  in  the  gorge  has  strength  only.  It  is  a 
fiendish,  impish  body  of  water. 

It  is  not  utilized.     Its  only  use  is  to  support  a  very  good 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  GORGE.  507 

hotel,  the  venerable  party  who  takes  a  franc  for  admission  to 
it,  and  several  shops  devoted  to  selling  ''souvenirs"  to  tourists. 
These  are  the  only  wheels  this  water  power  turns.  About  one 
hundred  people  make  a  comfortable  living  from  the  gorge,  and 
thev  no  doubt  esteem  it  highly. 

Of  course  the  gorge  has  its  legend.  Every  well  regulated 
gorge  in  Switzerland  as  well  as  every  other  country  in  Europe 
has  a  legend,  done  in  the  most  atrocious  English,  and 
execrably  printed,  which  you  can  purchase  of  the  local  guide 
for  what  is  equivalant  to  ten  cents  American  money.  I  doubt 
not  that  Switzerland  has  a  legend-factory  running  somewhere, 
which  turns  them  out  to  order.  People  go  several  times,  you 
see,  and  they  Avant  a  new  legend  every  time. 

This  legend  accounts  for  the  formation  of  the  gorge,  and  I 
spent  an  entire  night  getting  it  into  understandable  English. 
It  runs  thus : — 

Way  back  in  the  dark  ages,  when  the  devil  was  in  the  habit 
of  coming  in  person  to  transact  his  business  with  men  —  and 
women  ^  there  was  no  gorge  at  all.  The  mountain  was 
shaped  not  as  it  is  now,  but  was  a  respectable  mountain,  with  a 
properly  conducted  stream  dancing  down  its  side.  This  stream 
turned  two  mills,  one  owned  by  a  very  nice  miller,  named  Bal- 
thazar, and  the  other  by  a  very  wicked  miller,  named  Caspar. 

Balthazar  had  the  respect  and  esteem  of  his  fellow-men, 
while  Caspar  was  universally  detested.  He  was  a  griping, 
grasping  man,  who  took  double  toll,  and  was  as  avaricious  as  a 
grave-yard.  Balthazar,  on  the  other  hand,  was  beloved  by 
everybody,  because  he  was  good ;  and,  because  he  was  good,  he 
was  very  poor.  Caspar  had  succeeded  in  buying  up  his  notes, 
and  he  held  a  claim  on  his  mill,  which  he  desired  to  get  out  of 
the  way,  as  he  wanted  no  competition.  But  Balthazar  kept 
right  along,  for  he  had  friends  somewhere  who  advanced 
money  to  him,  so  that  he  could  keep  up  the  interest  and  defy 
the  enemy. 

Caspar  tried  every  way  to  get  rid  of  his  competitor,  but  he 
could  not,  and  he  chafed  under  it.  He  dwelt  upon  it  so  long 
that  it  became  a  mania  with  him.  How  to  crush  Balthazar 
and  have  the  sole  privilege  of  plundering  the  people  was  the 
thought  with  him  by  day  and  night. 


508  NASBY    IX    EXILE. 

One  Spring  he  bought  more  of  Balthazar's  paper,  but,  to 
his  chagrin,  Balthazar  came  around  promptly  and  paid  it,  the 
day  it  was  due,  and  Caspar  found  himself  foiled  again. 

And  so  that  night  when  he  was  pacing  his  room  and  fret- 
ting and  fuming  about  his  disappointment,  he  remarked  to 
himself  mentally  — a  very  dangerous  thing  in  those  days  — 
that  he  would  give  his  soul  to  be  relieved  of  this  popular  rival. 

No  sooner  thought  than  done.  The  archdemon  appeared 
in  person,  and  Caspar  did  not  seem  to  be  surprised. 

''  Are  you  in  earnest,  Herr  Caspar  ? " 

"  Indeed  I  am.  That  man  is  poison  to  me.  I  must  get  rid 
of  him  and  his  mill." 

"  Yery  right.     You  can  do  it,  but  you  know  the  terms  ? " 

"  Certainly.  You  remove  the  mill,  you  ruin  Balthazar,  and 
after  a  time  I  become  yours,  I  sign  an  article  of  agreement, 
writing  my  name  in  my  own  blood.  That's  the  regular  thing, 
I  believe ! " 

"  You  are  right,  old  man,  right  as  a  trivet.     Sign  here." 

And  he  produced  the  document  which  he  had  with  him. 
It  stipulated  that  Balthazar's  mill  was  to  be  utterly  destroyed, 
and  Caspar's  not  injured,  and  that  things  should  be  so  fixed 
that  Caspar's  would  be  the  only  respectable  water-power 
possible  on  the  mountain. 

As  a  consideration  for  this  friendly  service,  Caspar  was, 
after  twenty  years  of  milling  with  no  competition,  to  yield 
himself  gracefully  to  the  demon,  body  and  soul. 

Caspar  whipped  off  his  coat,  cut  his  arm  for  blood,  and 
signed. 

The  devil  disappeared  in  a  clap  of  thunder,  leaving  a  per- 
ceptible odor  of  brimstone  in  the  room,  and  Caspar  went 
calmly  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  he  heard  that  an  immense  stream  of 
water  had  burst  out  of  the  mountain  below  his  mill,  and  that 
it  had  swept  poor  Balthazar's  property  entirely  away  —  that 
not  a  vestige  of  it  was  left.  He  smiled  grimly,  doubled  the 
size  of  his  toll-dish,  and  went  about  his  business. 

Twenty  years  later,  to  the  minute,  the  devil  appeared  and 
demanded  his  pay.  But  he  did  not  know  Caspar,  who  had 
been  thinking  the  matter  over  for  some  two  years,  and  being 


<  SOME    DOUBTS.  509 

hale  and  hearty,  had  no  idea  of  going  at  all,  and  especially  of 
going  where  he  had  rashly  ticketed  himself.  He  had  consulted 
an  abbott  of  rare  power  in.  such  cases,  and  the  abbott  had 
shown  him  how  to  evade  the  contract.  The  writer  of  the 
legend  does  not  state  just  what  this  was,  but  it  was  sufficient. 

Caspar  declined  to  fulfil  his  contract,  and  the  devil  saw  he 
was  foiled.  He  recognized  the  superior  power  of  the  abbott, 
but  he  couldn't  help  himself.  He  merely  lashed  his  tail  around, 
and  smiling  sarcastically,  remarked  : 

"  Yery  good,  my  fine  fellow,  you  have  won  the  first  point 
in  this  game,  but  I  shall  proceed  to  show  you  that  there  are 
things  over  which  the  abbott  has  no  control.     Good  night." 

He  sailed  out  into  the  night,  Caspar  jeering  him.  Se 
jeered  too  soon.  For  just  then  there  came  a  horrible  darkness, 
with  terrible  thunder  and  flashes  of  frightful  lightning,  and 
the  mountain  w^as  rent  in  twain,  and  Caspar's  mill  with  himself 
and  his  live  stock  all  went  down  into  the  chasm,  and  the 
Gorge  du  Trient  was  made. 

Caspar's  body  was  found  in  thre  river  below,  with  ugly 
marks  about  the  throat,  with  the  debris  of  his  mill.  There 
was  not  a  splinter  left  of  anything. 

This  is  the  legend.     I  don't  believe  it,  for  several  reasons. 

If  the  devil  had  sufficient  knowledge  of  the  intention  of 
men  in  advance  to  bring  with  him  a  contract  all  drawn  up, 
(which  must  have  cost  him  some  trouble  unless  he  kept  them 
printed  in  blank)  he  would  also  have  known  that  Caspar  would 
outwit  him  in  the  end. 

If  he  had  the  power  to  catch  Caspar  by  destroying  his  mill 
by  splitting  the  mountain,  he  had  the  same  power  before,  and 
was  just  as  sure  of  the  miller  before  as  after  this  exhibition  of 
his  power. 

Going  through  all  this  rigmarole  of  signing  and  making 
contracts  would  be  totally  unnecessary.  Satan  is  supposed  to 
be  cunning.  What  sense  was  there  in  laying  traps  for  Caspar 
when  Caspar  was  doing  his  level  best  to  get  to  him  anyhow? 
Had  he  let  him  alone,  Caspar  would  have  come  to  him  of  his 
own  accord. 

And  then  splitting  a  mountain  to  catch  one  miller  would 
be  something  like  firing  a  columbiad  at  a  cock  sparrow.     It 


510  NASBY    m    EXILE. 

would  be  a  great  waste  of  ammunition.  He  could  safely  have 
depended  upon  Caspar's  own  toll-dish. 

He  may  have  made  the  gorge  knowing  it  would  be  used,  as 
time  rolled  on,  by  guides  and  hotel-keepers,  but  the  legend  of 
the  miller  will  not  do. 

However,  it  is  the  legend  of  the  place,  and  so  I  have  to  give 
it.'  The  only  lesson  I  can  draw  from  it  is  not  a  good  one. 
The  virtuous  Balthazar  lost  his  property  just  the  same  as  the 
wicked  Caspar,  and  as  he  probably  starved  to  death  imme- 
diately, while  Caspar  had  a  good  time  for  twenty  years,  his 
virtue  counted  him  nothing,  so  far  as  this  world  goes.  I  have 
found  that  out,  however,  in  my  own  experience. 

In  every  country  in  the  world  that  has  rocks,  there  is  some 
frightfully  high  one  from  which  a  great  many  years  ago  a 
maiden  leaped.  Indian  maidens  were  addicted  to  this  in 
America,  and  so  were  maidens  in  Switzerland. 

You  are  compelled  to  climb  to  the  very  top  of  the  mountain 
on  one  side  of  the  gorge  to  see  the  place  where  a  maiden  threw 
herself  over.  The  guide  said  she  was  crossed  in  love  by  her 
parents,  Avhile  our  landlord  had  it  that  she  was  deserted  by  her 
lover.  Thus  you  had  two  stories  at  the  price  of  one,  and  could 
believe  which  you  chose. 

Tibbitts  looked  calmly  down  the  frightful  chasm. 

"  The  maiden  leaped  from  this  spot  ? " 

"Yes,  sare." 

"How  under  Heaven  did  she  ever  get  back!" 

"  She  did  not  get  back." 

"Did  she  hurt  herself?" 

"Hurt  hairselluf!  It  ees  five  huntret  veet  to  ze  bottom. 
How  could  she  fall  five  huntret  veet  and  not  hurt  hairselluf?" 

"Five  hundred  feet!  Well,  I  should  say  it  was  rather 
risky.     What  did  the  old  folks  do  about  it  ? " 

He  wanted  to  ki^ow  all  the  circumstances,  but  the  informa- 
tion of  guides  on  such  subjects  always  ends  with  the  blood- 
curdhng  tragedy.  They  know  nothing  of  what  happened 
after  the  girl  took  the  fatal  plunge. 

The  road  from  Yernayaz  leads  through  a  number  of  pretty 
Swiss  villages,  whose  peculiarly  built  stone  houses  contrast 
strangely  with  the  pretentious  edifices  of  the  towns  and  cities- 


MAETIGNY. 


511 


we  had  just  left.     The  one  narrow  street  through  which  the 
r-a.rriages  passed  is  filled  with  queerly  dressed  people,  to  whom 


WHERE   THE  MAIDEN   LEAPED   FiiOM. 


the  passing  of  a  tourist   party  is  about  the  only  event  that 
relieves  the  dull  routine  of  their  monotonous  lives. 

Near  Martigny   we   pass   an  old   dilapidated  castle,  that. 


512 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


seven  hundred  years  ago,  was  the  stronghold  of  Peter  of 
Savoy,  who  ruled  with  an  iron  hand  the  people  in  the 
neighboring  Cantons. 

Now  we  leave  the  valley  of  the  Khone  and  begin  in  earnest 
the  ascent  of  the  mountains. 

It  is  hard  to  realize  that  horses  and  carriage  can  make  their 
way  over  these  great  towering  mountains.  Apparently  they 
are  inaccessible  as  the  clouds  that  float  lazily  above  them. 
But  we  bowl  along  the  hard  white  road  at  a  rattling  pace,  and 
are  soon  at  an  elevation  from  which  the  villages  in  the  valley 
below  look  like  toy  towns.  The  road  is  a  continuous  letter  Z, 
winding  up  the  side  of  the  mountain,  each  tack  bringing  us 
higher  and  higher. 

The  air  is  clear  and  dry,  so  that  at  each  turn  in  the  road  a 
wonderful  view  is  afforded.  Across  the  valley  are  seen  well 
cultivated  farms,  with  men  and  women  hard  at  work  in  the 
harvest  fields.  Further  down  is  a  grove,  the  green  foliage 
standing  out  in  bold  relief  from  the  golden  fields  of  grain 
that  surround  it,  while  above  towers  an  old  ruined  church,  its 
cold,  gray  color  softened  and  subdued  by  the  ivy  that  nearly 
covers  it. 

There  is  an  exhilaration  as  we  mount  higher  and  higher. 
All  thoughts  of  worldly  cares  are  thrown  to  the  winds  and  we 
revel  in  the  delights  of  this  new  and  wonderful  experience. 
"We  almost  envy  the  Swiss  peasant  as  he  cuts  the  sweet- 
smelling  grass  high  up  the  mountain  side.  We  are  tempted 
to  stop  and  visit  some  of  these  ugly  chalets,  with  their  stone- 
anchored  roofs,  which  looked  like  miniature  bee-hives  from  the 
valley  below.  We  want  to  do  almost  anything  to  give  vent 
to  the  superabundant  supply  of  animal  spirits  this  clear  and 
bracing  air  produces. 

We  were  subjected,  however,  to  many  grievous  disappoint- 
ments. We  expected  the  moment  we  struck  the  Alps  to  see 
the  graceful  chamois,  leaping  from  crag  to  crag,  the  Alpine 
hunter,  dressed  in  knee  breeches,  with  a  peaked  hat  and  parti- 
colored ribbons  wound  around  his  stockings.  We  kept  sharp 
lookout  for  the  Swiss  maidens  with  their  broad-brimmed  hats 
and  picturesque  short  dresses,  and  above  all  we  hungered  for  a 
sight  of  a  Swiss  chalet,  one  of  those  delightfully  beautiful  and 


A   WOEFUL    LACK. 


oi; 


picturesque  houses,  all  angles  and  gables,  and  things  of  that 
nature,  which  we  all  have  ad- 
mired at  Long  Branch  and  other 
watering  places  in  America. 

We  saw  no  chamois,  either 
leaping  from  crag  to  crag,  or  in 
any  other  business.  If  there 
are  any  chamois  they  manage 
to  keep  themselves  in  very 
strict  seclusion. 

There  being  no  chamois,  it 
follows,  as  a  matter  of  course,  \% 
that  there  are  no  Alpine  "^^^^ 
hunters  after  them,  for  the 
Alpine  Swiss  don't  go  about 
posing  in  picturesque  garments 
for  the  benefit  of  tourists.  Not 
he.  He  keeps  himself  busy  in 
his  shop,  making  carvings  of 
wood,  which  he  sells  to  the  tourists,  and  he  isn't  picturesque 


THE  CHAMOIS. 


TAKING  THE  CATTLE  TO  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

either.     He  wears  shockinoj  bad  clothes,  just  about  the  same 
33 


614  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

that  poor  people  wear  the  world  over,  and  poverty  is  scarcely 
ever  picturesque. 

The  smiling  Swiss  maiden  is  also  a  myth.  Those  we  met 
on  the  roads  were  anything  but  pretty,  anything  but  smiling, 
and  anything  but  pleasant  to  look  at.  They  were,  as  a  rule, 
short,  dumpy  young  ladies,  with  either  bare  feet  or  feet  in 
wooden  shoes,  carrying  enormous  loads,  their  mothers  follow- 
ing them,  also  carrying  a  heavy  load  of  grass  or  wood,  and  she 
and  the  mother  were  generally  ornamented  with  immense 
goitres  which  hung  down  from  their  necks  in  particularly 
disagreeable  prominence. 

This  disease  is  fearfully  prevalent  in  these  mountains, 
almost  every  other  woman  of  age  having  it.  I  don't  remember 
seeing  a  man  with  it,  nor  a  very  young  woman,  but  it  is 
almost  the  rule  in  some  sections,  in  women  of  forty  and  over. 

Physicians  do  not  pretend  to  cure  it,  and  so  it  hangs  and 
grows,  and  the  neck  swells  and  swells,  till  the  goitre  becomes 
an  immense  bag. 

It  is  a  singular  dispensation.  Why  should  it  be  the  exclu- 
sive property  of  women?  It  doesn't  make  much  difference 
how  a  man  looks,  and  the  Swiss  women,  worked  to  death  as 
they  are,  have  little  enough  beauty  at  best,  and  with  all  these 
disadvantages  to  hang  a  goitre  upon  their  necks  is  burdening 
them  a  trifle  too  much.  Still,  so  much  do  they  love  their 
mountains,  that  they  would  stay  among  them  if  their  necks 
should  enlarge  to  the  degree  of  requiring  wheelbarrows  to  carry 
them  comfortably. 

The  Swiss  chalet  is  another  disappointment.  We  expected 
to  see  the  mountains  dotted  all  over  with  those  beautiful  houses, 
all  gables  and  dormer  windows,  picturesquely  painted  in  all 
sorts  of  gay  colors,  such  as  we  see  in  the  theaters. 

Such  a  house  with  a  pretty  peasant  girl  in  short  dress,  with 
gay  colored  stockings,  and  a  simple  but  very  sweet  broad  straw 
hat,  and  a  few  dozens  of  chamois  leaping  from  crag  to  crag, 
would  make  a  very  pretty  picture  and  one  worth  going  a  long 
way  to  see. 

As  we  were  disappointed  in  the  chamois  and  the  maidens, 
so  were  we  in  the  Swiss  houses.  There  is  everything  in  them 
but  beauty.     They  are  just  about  as  beautiful  as  a  western 


THE    SWISS    COTTAGE. 


515 


grain  elevator  or  a  Quaker  meeting-house.  There  is  enough 
timber  in  them  — each  stick  crossing  the  other  in  a  most 
unnecessary  way,  and  there  are  gables,  and  dormer  windows 
and  all  that,  but  they  are  put  together  in  a  most  unsatisfactory 
way,  if  beauty  is  what  you  are  after.  They  are  absolutely 
shapeless.  The  roof  is  burdened  with  layers  of  stone  to  keep 
it  on  in  the  high  winds  that  prevail,  and  they  are  invariably 
weather  -  beat- 
en, dingy,  and 
altogether  un- 
satisfactory. 

In  one  end  ^;^ 
of  these  un- 
couth dwel- 
lings the  fami- 
ly reside,  and 
the  work  is 
done,  and  in 
the  other  the 
cattle  are  stab-  fl:^'^:^ 
led,  in  what  in 
America  we 
use  as  a  barn. 
The  cattle,  the 
pigs  and  the 
poultry  are  all 
stabled  con- 
venient, only  a 
thin  wall  separating  them  from  the  women  and  children. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  residence  end  cf  the  hideous 
building  is  kept  very  clean,  and  very  nicely^  for  your  Swiss 
housewife  is  a  good  one,  but  the  proximity  to  the  stock  would 
not  be  considered  pleasant  in  any  other  country.  They  cannot 
plead  lack  of  land  for  thus  crowding  together,  for  tliose  moun- 
tains are  immense,  and  very  sparsely  settled.  It  is  so  arranged 
probably  for  convenience. 

Inasmuch  as  the  traveler  through  Switzerland  is  always  dis- 
appointed in  the  matter  of  chamois,  picturesquely  clad  and 
pretty  girls  and  Swiss  chalets,  I  insist  that  the  government 


OUTSIDE  THE  CHALET. 


516 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


should  furnish  them.  It  is  a  matter  for  national  action.  The 
government  should  breed  chamois,  and  train  them  to  skip  from 
crag  to  crag,  it  should  maintain  a  force  of  chamois  hunters, 
such  as  we  see  in  pictures  and  at  the  theater,  to  hunt  them,  and 
it  should  have  pretty  girls  dressed  as  we  were  led  to  expect  to 
see  them,  at  regular  intervals,  even  if  it  should  import  them 
from  Paris,  and  it  should  build  on  each  Alpine  pass  at  least  a 
dozen  chalets  of  the  regulation  ztyle. 

Then  tourists  would  be  satisfied  and  invest  more  liberally 

ill  wood  carv- 
ings and  music 
boxes,  and 
would  be  more 
content  with 
having  got  the 
full  worth  of 
their  money. 

The  princi- 
pal industry  on 
the  mountains 
is  cheese,  and 
selling  refresh- 
ments to  travel- 
ers. The  travel- 
ers  stop  and 
drink  wine  every 
time    possible, 

for  the  purpose  of  improving  their  taste  in  wines,  which  affords 
a  very  respectable  revenue  to  the  inhabitants  along  the  roads. 
The  cattle  in  the  Spring  are  driven  to  the  very  summits  of 
such  of  the  mountains  as  are  not  tipped  with  snow,  in  the  little 
valleys  of  which  a  very  sweet  grass  is  found,  w^hich  makes  a 
cheese  almost  as  good  as  the  imitations  that  are  produced  in 
various  sections  of  America.  The  people  live  upon  a  tolerably 
bad  cheese,  very  bad  bread,  and  still  worse  wine,  and  when  one 
looks  at  the  almost  absolute  sterility  of  the  soil,  the  wonder  is 
how  they  get  enough  of  that  to  sustain  life. 

But  they  do.     It  takes  very  little  to  sustain  a  mountain 
family  in  this  country.     The  women  don't  wear  gaiters  with 


INSIDE  THE  CHALET. 


THE    SWISS    IN    GENERAL.  ^^/J 

high  heels  at  ten  dollars  a  pair  —  wooden  shoes,  a  pair  of 
which  lasts  for  several  generations,  does  them,  if  indeed  they 
do  not  go  barefooted,  which  in  the  Summer  is  the  prevaihng 
fashion.  Their  clothing  is  substantial,  though  very  coarse, 
and  if  they  don't  go  to  theaters  or  operas,  or  have  any  of  the 
expenses  of  a  more  luxurious  civilization,  they  get  on  very 
well,  and  seem  to  be  happy.  As  it  is  a  day's  journey  down  a 
mountain  to  a  village  where  there  is  anything  to  buy,  they 
don't  buy  very  much ;  and  as  their  little  land  furnishes  all  they 
can  eat,  drink  and  wear,  they  are  just  as  rich  as  Rothschild, 
every  bit.  It  isn't  what  you  want  that  makes  you  rich,  it  is 
what  you  don't  Want.  The  mountain  Swiss  don't  want  any- 
thing, and  they  have  it.  Therefore  they  are  rich.  Their 
government  doesn't  bother  them  with  taxes  to  any  extent; 
they  don't  require  daily  newspapers  or  magazines,  or  anything 
of  that  Idnd,  and  so  they  hve  on  the  next  thing  to  nothing  a 
long  time,  and  die  at  the  end  of  it,  when  they  have  just  as 
much  as  anybody. 

As  quiet  and  stagnft^^  as  is  the  life  of  a  Swiss  family,  don't 
make  the  mistake  of  supposing  them  to  be  either  unintelligent 
or  stupid.  They  are  well  educated,  and  in  every  one  of  these 
ugly  houses  there  are  books,  and  books  that  are  used.  They 
keep  themselves  posted  in  everything  that  is  going  on  in  the 
world  outside,  their  intelligence  being  a  month  or  such  a 
matter  behind  the  rest  of  the  world,  but  they  get  it,  and  they 
understand  it  when  they  do  get  it. 

A  sturdy  race  they  are,  and  the  world  knows  and  appre- 
ciates them.  There  is  scarcely  a  battle-field  in  Europe  upon 
which  they  have  not  bled,  and  though  subjected  to  the  stigma 
of  being  hirelmgs  and  mercenaries,  they  have  never  proved  • 
false  to  the  side  they  hired  to.  They  do  not  scrutinize  the 
cause  they  fight  for  very  closely,  unless  it  be  their  own,  but 
when  once  enlisted  they  can  be  depended  upon  to  the  death. 

Thousands  of  them  are  coming  to  the  United  States,  and  I 
wish  every  one  of  them  could  be  multiplied  by  a  hundred. 
They  make  excellent  Americans,  and  we  can't  have  too  many 
of  them. 


CHAPTEE  XXXIY. 

OYER    THE    ALPS THE    PASS    TGTE   NOIRE. 

It  is  just  in  the  midst  of  the  hay  harvest, 'and  men,  women 
and  children  are  all  cutting,  raking  and  carrying  from  the 
mountain  side  to  the  vale  below. 

All  this  work  is  done  by  hand.  There  can  be  no  such 
thing  as  a  team  on  these  mountains  —  one  would  as  soon  think 
of  driving  a  team  up  the  side  of  a  wall. 

The  Swiss  woman  takes  an  active  part  in  tne  duties  of  the 
field,  and  an  immense  amount  of  work  she  is  capable  of. 
While  the  men  are  cutting  the  grass,  she  fills  a  huge  sheet 
with  that  which  has  dried,  formmg  a  bundle  about  eight  feet 
square  and  two  or  three  feet  high.  This  she  balances  upon  her 
head  and  carries  it  down  the  steep  mountain  side  to  their 
curiously  constructed  barns,  which  have  the  side  of  the  hill  for 
one  end. 

Women  in  this  region  do  the  most  of  the  outdoor  work, 
and  do  every  kind.  The  Swiss  maid  or  matron  isn't  lolling 
about  parlors  or  spending  her  time  over  her  dressing  bureau. 
She  plows,  or  rather  digs,  for  on  these  steep  mountain  sides 
plowing  is  an  impossibility,  for  so  steep  are  they  that  should 
the  team  be  plowing  transversely  the  upper  horse  would  fall 
and  crush  his  mate  on  the  lower  side.  They  dig  up  the  ground 
with  a  heavy  mattock,  a  tool  heavier  than  I  would  care  to 
wield,  and  the  women  are  just  as  expert  at  it  as  the  men. 
Muscular  parties  are  these  Swiss  women,  and  their  lives  are 
anything  but  easy.  In  such  a  country  every  one  must  labor 
to  procure  the  common  necessaries  of  life  —  men,  w^omen  and 
children.  It  is  a  good  thing,  however,  to  have  so  much  that  is 
kindly  in  nature  as  to  make  a  living  sure  if  those  wanting  the 
living  are  willing  to  work  for  it. 

(518) 


MR.    TIBBITTS     mEA. 


519 


Tibbitts  observed  these  stout,  sturdy  women  as  they  came 
zig-zagging  doAvn  the  mountaiiij  carrying  these  enormous 
burdens  as  patiently  as  mules  and  quite  as  surelv.     There  was 


a  lapse  of  five  minutes,  during  which  time  he  never  spoke  a 

word,  which  was  something  so  unusual  as  to  cause  remark. 

^'I  was  thinking,"  said  Tibbitts,  "that  could  polygamy  be 


520 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


introduced  into  Switzerland,  I  should  emigrate  to  this  country 
and  become  a  William  Tell.  I  should  secure  a  large  tract  of 
this  land  and  go  into  a  general  rnairying  business.     I  should 


i:ii 


**I  SHOULD    WAKE   THEM  UP   CHEERILY  WITH    AN   ALPINE    HORN." 

take  to  my  bosom  say  fifty  of  these  maidens  —  nay  I  wouldn't 


oo 


ject   to   widows,  not   even  those   with   goitres,  for  I  have 


WHAT    TIBBITTS    WOULD    DO.  521 

noticed  that  the  goitre,  no  matter  how  large,  does  not  inter- 
fere with  an  elderly  woman's  capacity  for  carrying  hay  down 
the  mountain.  Indeed,  a  goitre,  skillfully  managed,  may  be 
helpful.  For  if  arranged  so  as  to  hang  on  the  upper  side  of 
the  woman  it  would  assist  materially  in  preserving  her  equi- 
librium. With  fifty  of  these  wives  the  labor  problem  is  solved. 
I  should  wake  them  up  early  in  the  morning  cheerily  with  an 
Alpine  horn  (after  taking  one  myself),  and  after  the  frugal 
meal  of  black  bread  and  cheese,  I  should  have  them  skip 
merrily  up  the  mountains  and  cut  the  sweet  smelling  grass, 
and  rake  it  and  turn  it,  like  so  many  Maud  MuUers,  and  tie  it 
up  in  bundles  and  carry  it  down  to  the  modest  chalet,  where  I 
would  be  to  see  that  other  wives  stored  it  safely  away  for  use 
in  the  long  Alpme  Winter. 

''  I  should  at  once  purchase  cows,  with  the  dowry  of  my 
fifty  wives,  and  establish  a  cheese  factory,  making  the  fra- 
grant Limberger  for  the  Germans  in  America,  and  the  smooth 
^euchatel  for  more  delicate  appetites,  and  all  the  other 
varieties.  To  carry  on  the  business  successfully  would  take 
me  much  to  Geneva,  and,  in  pursuit  of  a  better  market,  to 
Paris,  where,  as  the  proprietors  of  the  Jardin  Mabille  are 
large  consumers  of  the  products  of  the  Swiss  dairies,  I  should 
be  thrown  largely  into  society  that  would  prevent  life  from 
becoming  too  monotonous. 

"  And  while  I  was  away,  my  fifty  wives  would  rise  early  in 
the  gladsome  morn  and  labor  cheerily,  singing  the  while  the 
simple  carols  of  their  native  mountains  till  dewy  eve,  and  sleep 
sweetly,  gaining  strength  for  a  larger  day's  work  on  the  morrow. 

"  There  is  some  sense  in  marrying  a  Swiss  woman,  for  she 
can  do  something  toward  supporting  you.  An  American 
woman  expects  to  be  supported ;  she  expects  to  have  luxurious 
surroundings,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  which  the  man  labors 
for.  I  like  this  scheme  the  best.  But,  unfortunately,  one  is 
not  sufficient  to  support  a  man,  and,  as  polygamy  is  unlawful, 
I  shall  not  marry  in  Switzerland.  One  could  not  be  made 
useful,  and  when  I  marry  for  ornament,  I  shall  require  some- 
thing more  ornamental." 

And  Tibbitts  relapsed  into  moody  silence,  disgusted  with 
life  because  the  Swiss  government  would  not  permit  him  to 
marry  enough  women  to  insure  him  a  comfortable  living. 


522  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

At  Geneva  we  took  a  courier.  A  courier  is  a  man  who 
professes  to  speak  seven  languages,  but  in  reality  speaks  one 
well,  generally  the  German,  and  two,  English  and  French, 
very  badly.  He  is  invariably  the  champion  liar  of  the  universe. 
There  isn't  a  lying  club  on  the  Pacific  coast  of  which  the 
humblest  and  most  recent  courier  would  not  at  once  be  unani- 
mously elected  perpetual  president.  He  lies,  not  from  necessity 
growing  out  of  his  situation,  but  because  to  him  it  is  a  luxury. 
He  revels  in  it,  and  is  never  so  happy  in  it  as  when  he  has 
accomplished  a  gorgeous  he  —  one  of  those  picturesque  lies 
that  the  listener  is  compelled  to  accept,  though  he  knows  it  to 
be  false. 

He  approaches  a  lie  with  the  feverish  anxiety  that  always 
accompanies  an  expected  pleasure;  rapturizes  over  the  per* 
formance,  and  is  unhappy  till  he  can  bring  forth  another.  He 
has  been  in  all  countries ;  he  has  been  in  the  service  of  every 
notable  on  earth,  from  ttie  Shah  of  Persia  down ;  and  he  is 
with  you  at  the  absurd  price  of  forty-five  dollars  a  month 
only,  because  he  has  to  wait  a  month  for  a  Russian  Prince, 
who  would  never  take  a  step  without  him. 

You  feel  from  the  beginning  that  you  are  under  obligations 
to  this  gorgeous  being ;  you  are  ashamed  of  yourself  when  you 
hand  him  the  miserable  pittance  he  condescends  to  accept  for 
his  services ;  and  you  would  no  more  think  of  asking  him  to 
account  for  any  moneys  put  into  his  hands  than  you  would  of 
offering  a  tip  to  the  Queen  of  England. 

The  courier  is  a  man  who  professes  to  know  aU  the  hotels, 
all  the  roads,  all  the  manners  and  customs,  everything  of  the 
country  through  which  you  pass ;  and  he  takes  charge  of  a 
party  for  a  stipulated  price  per  month,  pledging  himself  to  use 
his  wonderful  gifts  entirely  for  your  benefit. 

At  the  beginning,  while  you  are  engaging  him,  he  warns 
you  that  to  travel  through  any  country  is  to  expose  yourself  to 
swindles,  and  extortions  and  impositions  of  all  kinds,  from  an 
exorbitant  hotel  bill  up  the  whole  gamut  to  the  swindle  in 
works  of  art  —  the  only  protection  against  which  is  a  good 
courier. 

"Am  I  dot  man?  I  vill  not  say.  But  ask  the  Prince 
Petrowski,  the  Duke  of  Magenta,  the  Earl  of  Strathcommon. 
Dose  are  my  references." 


THE    COURIER.  523 

These  personages  being  a  long  way  oif,  you  don't  ask  them 
at  all ;  but  you  engage  him  and  iiatter  yourself  that  from  this 
time  on  your  pocket  is  safe  and  your  comfort  is  assured. 

The  courier  is  yom^  servant  for  one  day,  and  your  master 
aR  the  rest  of  the  time  he  is  with  you. 

The  second  day  he  com.es  to  you  with  a  smile. 

''  I  have  you  feexed  goot.  Dot  rascal  landlord  knows  me, 
and  he  vouldn't  dare  try  a  schwindle  mit  any  barty  oof  mine." 

*' What  do  you  pay  for  the  rooms?" 

"  Ten  francs  —  only  ten  francs ! " 
•    *'  But  we  had  better  rooms  day  before  yesterday  for  six  I " 

"  ^ot  in  dees  blace.  Het  you  pin  alone  you  would  hef  baid 
feefteen." 

This  was  all  a  lie.  The  courier  is  known  to  all  the  land- 
lords, and  the  landlords  allow  him  a  very  snug  commission 
on  all  parties  he  brings  into  their  slieep  fold  to  be  sheared. 

This  matter  of  commission  goes  into  everything  you  touch. 
Your  courier  will  not  permit  you  to  purchase  anything  without 
him  —  he  places  himself  between  you  and  everything,  from  a 
picture  to  a  tooth  pick.  He  buys  for  you,  the  goods  are  sent 
to  your  hotel,  you  give  the  courier  the  money  to  pay  it,  which 
he  does,  bringing  back  a  receipt  for  the  money  which  he  has 
really  paid,  less  the  commission,  all  of  which  was  added  to  the 
price  of  the  goods  at  the  beginning. 

In  order  that  you  may  not  escape  him  in  material  things, 
he  reduces  you  to  abject  helplessness  in  things  not  material. 
He  bears  down  upon  you  in  such  a  way  that  you  comprehend 
the  fact  that  you  can  do  nothing  without  him.  For  instance, 
you  see  a  beautiful  spring  by  the  roadside ;  the  water  as  pure 
and  sweet  as  water  can  be,  which  actually  invites  you  to  drink. 
]^ow,  should  you  ask  the  courier  if  that  is  good  water,  he 
doubtless  would  say  yes;  but  should  you  spring  from  the 
carriage  and  attempt  to  drinli  without  permission,  he  jumps 
also  and  holds  you  back. 

'' Dot  vater  ees  boison,"  he  says.  "I  vill  show  you  de  vater 
vot  you  may  trink  rait  safety." 

Likewise  in  the  matter  of  vnnes.  At  one  resting  place  on 
the  mountains,  Tibbitts  was  ferocious  for  a  bottle  of  the 
delightful  white  wine  you  get  everywhere,  and  called  for  a 


524 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


bottle  without  consulting  the  courier.  Promptly  the  man 
countermanded  the  order. 

"  Mr.  Teebbeets,  de  vine  here  ish  pat  mit  de  stomach.  Ye 
veil  vait  till  ve  get  to  de  next  blace." 

Tibbitts  was  furious,  for  he  was  arid. 

"  Look  here,  my  friend,"  he  said,  "  I  am  not  carrying  your 
stomach  around  with  rae.  The  one  I  am  endangering  I  have 
had  a  proprietary  interest  in  for  twenty-six  years,  and  if  I 
don't  know  its  capacity,  its  powers  of  endurance,  and  all  that, 
I  don't  know  who  does.  You  take  care  of  your  stomach  and 
let  mine  alone.  Mademoiselle^  a^portez  moi  ze  —  that  is — 
d  —  n  it  —  hotteille  —  bottle  —  du  vin  —  that  is,  fetch  back  that 
bottle  and  be  mighty  quick  about  it." 

And  a  minute  later  he  was  pouring  it  out,  and  as  he 
swallowed  it,  he  remarked  to  himself,  ^'Injure  the  stomach, 
indeed !  A  man  who  has  swallowed  enough  sod-corn  whisky  in 
Oshkosh  to  float  the  Great  Eastern,  to  be  afraid  of  this  thin 
drink.     If  it  were  aquafortis  now — " 

The  courier  was  mortally  offended,  and  sulked  all  the 
afternoon.  If  Tibbitts  could  order  a  bottle  of  wine  without 
his  permission,  he  might  possibly  buy  a  Swiss  carving  in  Cham- 
onix  when  we  arrived  there,  without  consulting  him,  and  then 
where  would  be  the  commission  ? 

After  the  rest  and  the  wine,  and  the  bad  bread  and  the 
tolerably  bad  cheese,  we  proceeded  on  our  journey.  From  that 
time  on  it  was  a  succession  of  wonderful  views,  a  panorama 
sometimes  beautiful,  sometimes  awesome,  sometimes  soothing, 
and  sometimes  frightful.  But  no  matter  which  it  was,  it  Avas 
never  insipid.  There  was  a  positive  character  to  each  view, 
something  that  you  must  observe,  whether  or  no,  and  some- 
thing that  seen  left  an  impression  that  many  years  will  not 
efface. 

The  Pass  Tdte  Koir  is  an  experience  that  will  last  a  life 
time. 

"We  made  a  sharp  turn  in  the  road  at  one  point,  and  a  view 
burst  upon  us  that  was  worth  a  journey  across  the  Atlantic  to 
see.  We  were  hanging  over  a  chasm  full  six  thousand  feet 
deep  —  that  is,  to  the  first  impediment  to  a  full  and  satisfactory 
fall.     Should  you  go  down  that  six  thousand  feet  you  would 


A    SATISFACTORY    FALL. 


525 


strike  upon  a  ledge  and  bound  off  a  number  of  thousand  feet 
more  before  you  finally  came  to  the  bottom.  Across  this 
yawning  gulf  was  a  mountain,  the  twin  of  the  one  on  whose 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  CHAMONIX. 

sides  we  were  hanging,   covered  with   evergreen   trees  to   a 
certain  way  up  to  the  top,  which  was  crowned  with  the  pure 


526  ISfASEY    IN    EXILE. 

white  of  the  eternal  snow  and  ice.  There  were  a  thousand 
shades  of  color  as  the  eye  commenced  at  the  level  we  were  on 
and  traveled  up  to  the  top,  all  brought  out  gloriously  by  the 
sunlight  of  noon- day. 

One  of  the  party  took  in  the  whole  view  and  very  properly 
went  into  a  rapture. 

"Is  there  anything  under  heaven  so  magnificent  as  this 
combination  of  colors ! "  she  exclaimed,  holding  her  breath  in 
an  ecstacy. 

Then  up  spoke  the  faro  bankeress  as  she  took  it  all  in  at  a 
glance : 

"What  a  dress  it  would  make,  could  one  only  have  them 
colors  brought  out  in  silk ! " 

The  scenery,  always  grand  and  imposing,  changes  with 
every  bend  in  the  road,  and  always  gives  a  view  better  than 
the  preceding  one.  We  are  now  at  an  altitude  Avhere  the 
fragrant  spruce  lines  tiie  narrow  roadway,  and  covers  the 
hillside  with  everlasting  green.  Way  over  there,  where  the 
cold  gray  of  the  rocks  is  hidden  under  a  mantle  of  green,  on 
which  the  sun  and  clouds  make  ever-changing  pictures,  is  a 
bright,  flashing  stream,  dancing  and  sparkling  in  the  sunlight, 
as  it  falls  tumultuously  from  rock  to  rock,  now  losing  itself  in 
a  chasm  hundreds  of  feet  deep,  then  springing  out  again  further 
down,  until  at  length  it  worries  and  frets  itself  over  the  crags 
and  cliffs  till  it  reaches  tlie  valley,  and  flows  tranquilly  and 
smoothly  along  to  the  lake.  It  tj^pifies  life,  with  its  early 
struggles,  its  constant  striving  for.  the  rest  and  quiet  that 
comes  at  last. 

Now  Ave  approach  the  summit  of  the  mountains.  All 
around,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  is  nothing  but  a  series 
of  rough,  jagged  crags,  the  peaks  of  the  irregular  range  of 
mountains.  Kot  the  forest-covered  hills  we  have  been  riding 
through,  but  vast  piles  of  everlasting  snoAv,  which  even  the 
fierce  and  angry  sun  is  unable  to  make  any  impression  upon. 

But  we  were  not  permitted  to  take  all  the  enjoyment 
possible  out  of  the  wondrous  views.  There  never  was  a  party 
that  did  not  have  a  professor  in  it,  Avho  knows  all  about  every- 
thing, and  who  considers  it  his  mission  to  instruct  everybody 
else.     Add  to  this,  a  courier  who  knows  all  the  stock  show 


THE    TROUBLES    OF    TIBBITTS.  52T 

points,  j^rofessionally,  and  life  becomes  a  burden.     Some  peak 
would  come  to  our  view  higher  and  grander  than  any  we  had 
encountered.     And  then  the  courier : 
"  Ladies  unt  shentlemen,  dot  ish  — " 
The  Professor,  who  had  charge  of  Tibbitts : 
"Lemuel,  particularly  note  that  mountain  peak.     It  is — " 
"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Tibbitts      "  What  am  I  here  for,, 
anyhow  ?     What  did  I  sail  across  the  Atlantic,  and  come,  to 
Switzerland  for?      Why   do   you   and    that   other   weazened 
monkey  interrupt   me  when  I  am  contemplating   nature,  by 
calling    my    attention    to   it,     and    asking  me   to   note   it  ? 
Havn't  I  got  eyes  ?     Don't  I  know  the  difference  between  a 
Western  prairie  and  an  Alpine  peak  ?     And  as  for  the  names 
of  the  places,  havn't  I  got  a  guide  book,  and  can't  I  read  ? 
Am  I  a  baby  in  my  A  B  Abs  ?     Curious  you  can't  let  a  fellow 
alone." 

The  faro  bankeress  was  asleep,  she  had  been  for  many  miles, 
and  her  husband  was  asking  her  why  they  charged  a  franc  for 
a  little  bit  of  ice,  at  the  last  hotel,  when  the  mountains  were 
all  covered  with  it. 

The  road,  which,  up  to  this  time,  had  been  comparatively 
pleasant,  now  assumed  a  more  dangerous  look  to  those  who 
have  only  known  wide  paved  streets.  It  winds  along  the  very 
edge  of  precipices,  where  a  single  balk  would  send  us  all  tumb- 
ling down  three  or  four  thousand  feet.  At  places  it  is  cut  out 
of  the  side  of  the  hill,  so  that  on  one  side  there  is  a  solid  wall 
of  rock  rising  high  above  our  heads,  while  on  the  other  is  a 
sheer  descent  of  thousands  of  feet.  As  we  rattle  around  the 
sharp  curves  there  is  an  involuntary  clutching  at  the  seats,  for 
it  seems  certain  that  the  carriage  cannot  keep  the  road.  But 
the  Swiss  voiturier  is  an  expert  driver,  and  his  horses  are  sure 
footed,  so  there  is  not  the  slightest  danger,  perilous  though  it 
may  seem. 

After  a  brief  rest  at  the  summit,  the  brakes  are  put  on,  one 
of  the  three  horses  is  taken  from  the  front,  and  down  we  go  on 
the  other  side  of  the  mountain  it  took  us  aU  day  to  ascend. 

If  the  journey  so  far  was  attended  with  any  danger,  fancied 
or  real,  the  fact  was  driven  out  of  our  minds  by  the  nature  of 
the  road  we  were  descending.  It  was  frightful.  From  the 
carriage  we  could  look  down  into  a  valley  miles  and  miles  away> 


528  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

and  the  road  was  so  narrow  that  the  slightest  shp  w^onld  have 
sent  us  into  that  valley  in  short  order.  The  view  was  grand 
but  the  ride  was  fearful.  We  were  all  charmed  w^hen  we 
reached  the  valley  and  were  enabled  to  look  up  at  the  dizzy 
heights  that  had  given  us  such  a  scare. 

From  this  on  to  the  hotel  at  Tdte  Noir,  there  was  a  constant 
succession  of  tunnels,  high  bridges  over  deep  crevasses,  and 
sharp  curves  around  jutting  crags  that  almost  blocked  the  road. 

At  the  "half-way  house,"  as  it  is  called,  the  view  is  beauti- 
ful ;  three  or  four  w^aterf alls  tumbling  dow^n  the  mountain  sides, 
and  falling  into  the  mad  stream  that  goes  careering  wildly  over 
the  rocks  and  bowlders. 

Then  another  long  ride  through  a  rough  and  barren  country, 
indicating  the  approach  to  the  glacier  region,  and  then  at  a 
sudden  turn  in  the  road,  Mont  Blanc  looms  up  high  above  the 
great  peaks  by  w^hich  it  is  surrounded.  We  speed  rapidly  over 
the  floor-like  road,  and  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  after  hav- 
ing been  on  the  road  since  seven  in  the  morning,  we  are  in 
Chamonix,  the  little  village  at  the  foot  of  Mt.  Blanc,  that 
lives  entirely  on  tourists. 

Of  course  the  great  point  of  interest  is  Mt.  Blanc,  the 
highest  point  of  the  central  chain  of  the  Swiss  and  Italian 
High  Alps. 

There  it  is — fifteen  thousand  seven  hundred  and  thirty-one 
feet  high,  covered  with  a  great  mass  of  ice  and  snow  that  has 
been  accumulating  for  ages. 

There  stands  the  patriarch  of  the  Alps,  crowned  with  the 
centuries,  and  still  smiling  grimly  at  Time. 

It  stands  alone  in  its  fearful  beauty.  Of  all  the  European 
mountains,  it  impresses  the  mind  wnth  the  power  of  the  forces, 
the  source  of  which  are  hidden  to  man,  and  which  it  is  not 
given  to  man  to  comprehend.  One  feels  his  own  insignificance 
as  he  gazes  on  this  wonderful  peak,  and,  no  matter  what  his 
creed,  feels  a  profound  reverence  for  whatever  power  he 
believes  created  it. 

Around  it  are  other  peaks  that  elsewhere  would  be  consid- 
ered very  high,  but  compared  with  this  giant  they  are  pigmies. 
Mt.  Blanc  is  not  to  be  described.  Descriptions  and  pictures 
can  convey  no  idea  of  it.     One  must  stand  under  the  shadow 


.THE    DANGERS    OF    ASCENDING   MONT    BLANC-  529 

of  that  eternal  snow,  must  feel  the  presence  of  the  grand  old 
mountain,  to  fully  appreciate  it. 

From  the  streets  of  Chamonix  the  sides  seem  to  be  as 
smooth  as  a  frozen  pond,  as  the  sun  glistens  on  the  ice  and 
snow ;  but  viewed  through  the  powerful  telescope  great  crags 
are  seen.  Wide  chasms,  no  one  know^s  how  deep,  yawn 
on  every  side.  Blank,  inaccessible  walls  shoot  straight  up  in 
the  air,  hundreds  of  feet.  There  are  impassible  glaciers  and  great 
gullies  where,  centuries  ago,  a  great  landslide  occurred.  All 
this  can  be  seen  through  the  telescope,  but  not  till  one  attempts 
the  ascent  can  he  realize  the  nature  of  Mt.  Blanc's  formation. 
Then  he  finds  his  path  beset  with  dangers  he  never  dreamed 
of.  He  sees  the  glaciers,  which  by  the  glass  seemed  only  rough 
places,  are  full  of  deep  crevices  hundreds  of  feet  wide.  He 
hears  the  rumbling  of  mid  streams  of  water  far  down  in  the 
ice,  as  they  swirl  and  swish  round  and  round  in  the  cavities 
formed  by  the  everlasting  action  of  the  water  against  the 
flinty  ice.  He  comes  upon  sohd  mountains  of  ice,  around  or 
over  which  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  go.  He  finds  bridges  of 
ice,  where  one  misstep  would  launch  him  down  a  crevice,  so 
far  that  his  body  could  never  be  recovered.  In  short,  he  finds 
that  Mt.  Blanc  is  only  smooth  and  safe  and  pleasant  when 
seen  at  a  distance  through  a  telescope. 

84 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 


GOING    UP    THE    MOUNTAIN. 


1  CANNOT  see  why  any  one   should  desire  to  ascend  Mt. 

H'Ca^^tttSKK^^^^B^S^^^--^     ^^^^^'  ^t  is  a. 

^^^     trip  of  great  dan- 
^^^^^^gp^^te   ger,  is  very  fa- 
^^"^^  ^8   tiguing,  and,  it  is 

^  said,  even  when 
the  summit  is 
reached  the  vicAv 
is  unsatisfactory, 
on  account  of  the 
great  distance 
from  all  objects 
save  the  jagged 
peaks  of  the  big 
mountain.  Yet 
there  are  quite  a 
number  of  as- 
cents made  every 
year. 

Why?  Because 
the  innocents 
who  do  it  dearly 
love  to  start 
out,  the  males 
with  their  knee 
breeches    and 

THE    PRESUMED   CHAMOIS    HUNTER.  horrlblc    Splkcd 

shoes,  and  the  females  with  their  hideous  dresses^  and  after  the 
ascent  is  either  made,  or  not  made,  it  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  be 

(530) 


ALPINE    ASCENTS. 


531 


photographed  in  groups  in  these  costumes.  Thousands  of 
these  photographs  are  taken,  for  home  consumption. 

Everybody  Hkes  to  be  photographed  in  the  act  of  doing 
what  they  can't  do.  The  stupid  man  who  never  looks  into  a 
book  always  wants  to  be  taken  with  one  elbow  upon  a  pile  of 
books,  and  his  fore  finger  thoughtfully  upon  his  forehead,  as 
though  he  were  devising  a  plan  for  the  payment  of  the 
national  debt;  the  young  sprout  who  buys  a  double-barreled 
shot-gun,  which  is  destined  never  to  take  animal  life,  always 
rushes  to  be  photographed  in  complete  sporting  costume,  shot- 
gun, game-bag,  dog  and  all;  and  where  was  there  ever  a 
militia  oiElcer  who  did  not  want  to  be  photographed  in  full 
uniform,  as  though  he  had  served  with  credit  through  the 
great  rebellion? 

So  these  Alpine  climbers,  these  Mt.  Blanc  ascenders,  would 
no  more  leave  Chamounix  without  being  photographed  in 
costume  than  they,  would  leave  their  letters  of  credit  behind 
them. 

Photography  is  an  unconscious  har.  It  is  as  unreliable  as 
history. 

Mt.  Blanc  was  first  ascended  in  1Y86;  then  in  1787;  again 
in  1825.  Since  then  the  trip  has  been  made  several  times,  two 
ladies,  even,  having  gone  to  the  very  summit. 

The  guides  and  souvenir  dealers  in  Chamonix  are  full  of 
stories  of  the  dangers  incurred  in  making  the  trip.  They  say 
that  some  forty  or  fifty  years  ago  a  couple  of  guides  made  a 
misstep,  arid  were  hurled  down  a  chasm.  An  attempt  was 
made  to  recover  the  bodies  but  without  success.  They  were 
never  found  as  a  whole.  Some  thirty  or  forty  years  afterward, 
portions  of  their  clothing,  with  a  few  bones,  were  found  m  a 
glacier,  having  been  gradually  worked  from  the  place  they 
were  killed,  by  the  slow  but  continual  motion  of  the  ice.  They 
didn't  show  us  the  shoes  nor  the  bones,  so  we  did  not  feel 
obliged  to  believe  the  story. 

Accidents !  There  have  been  enough  of  them  to  deter  any 
sane  man  or  woman  from  attempting  the  perilous  ascent.  The 
scientists  who  ascend  these  dizzy  heights,  which  a  goat  hardly 
dares  essay,  may  be  excused,  for  the  real  scientist  is  bound  by 
his  profession  to  risk  his  life  any  time  to  estabhsh  or  demolish 


532  NASBY   IN    EXILE. 

a  theory,  but  there  can  be  no  excuse  for  the  mere  sight  seer  to 
attempt  it.     Some  years  ago  four  Enghsh  clergymen  attempted 


THE  FATE   OF   TWO   ENGLISHMEN. 

the  ascent.     When  near  the  top,  toilmg  up  a  precipice  of  ice, 
the  rope  to  which  they  were  attached  broke,  and  two  of  them 


THE    MER    DE    GLACE 


533 


slid  down  the  smooth  descent  to  a  precipice,  and  plunged 
into  a  chasm  thousands  upon  thousands  of  feet  deep,  and  were 
never  more  seen.  In  these  ascents  every  care  must  be  used,  for 
everj  step  is  only  one  step  from  death.  A  fall  of  three  thou- 
sand feet  may  be  an  easy  way  to  die,  provided  one  wants  to 
die,  but  people  are  not,  as  a  rule,  anxious  for  so  sudden  a  part- 
ing with  things  sublunary.  Imagine  the  feelings  of  a  man  in 
the  instant  after  the  rope  breaks  and  he  feels  himself  nearing 
the  chasm,  with  nothing  on  earth  to  save  him ! 

It  is  now  a  well  established  fact  that  these  immense  glaciers, 


A  FREQUENT  ACCIDENT. 

between  ten  and  twenty  miles  lon^,  and  from  one  to  three 
miles  wide,  and  oftentimes  five  hundred  feet  thick,  are  contin- 
ually moving,  though  of  course  very  slowly,  averaging  from 
one  hundred  to  as  high  as  five  hundred  feet  per  annum.  The 
Mer  de  Glace,  near  Chamonix,  which  is  twelve  miles  long  and 
nearly  a  mile  wide,  is  said  to  have  moved  a  foot  a  day  during 
the  past  year. 

This  glacier,  the  Mer  de  Glace,  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
of  the  four  hundred  that  are  to  be  found  in  the  Alps  near  Mt. 


534 


NASBY   IN    EXILE. 


Blanc.  De  Saussure,  the  Genevese  naturalist,  speaking  of  its 
surface,  said  that  it  "resembles  a  sea  suddenly  frozen,  not 
during  a  tempest,  but  when  the  wind  has  subsided,  and  the 
waves,  although  still  high,  have  become  blunted  and  rounded. 
These  great  waves  are  intersected  by  transverse  crevasses,  the 
interior  of  which  appears  blue,  while  the  ice  is  white  on  the 
surface." 

The  journey  from  Chamonix  to  Montavert,  where  the  best 

view   on   the 


"Sea  of  Ice" 
can  be  had,  is 
very  tiresome, 
and  not  unat- 
tended with 
danger,  but  the 
sight  is  well 
worth  the  time 
and  trouble. 
Twelve  miles  of 
solid  ice  in  the 
most  fantastic 
shapes,  "a  sea 
suddenly  froz- 
en," is  a  sight 
never  to  be  for- 
gotten. 

A  very  little 
mountain  climb- 
ing goes  a  great 
way.     We  tried 


THE  MER  DE  GLACE. 


it  and  know  whereof  we  speak.  The  courier  was  to  blame  for  it. 
Couriers  make  men  do  more  foolish  things  than  any  other 
agency  in  the  world.  We  had  been  out  to  visit  a  gorgQ  some 
six  or  seven  miles  from  Chamonix,  and  had  been  delighted 
with  the  ravine,  with  its  foaming  stream  tearing  along  way 
down  the  valley.  We  had  walked  for  an  hour  or  more  on  a 
rickety  old  foot-bridge,  hundreds  of  feet  above  the  bottom  of 
the  gorge,  we  had  crept  along  wooden  galleries  fastened  to  the 
sides  of  the  precipices,  the  tops  of  which  were  well-nigh  out  of 


THE    GORGE. 


635 


sight,  and  the  bottoms  scarcely  discernable.  Galleries  that 
creaked  and  shook,  and  swayed  under  our  weight,  secured  to 
the  rocks  with  rusty  irons,  renewed  no  one  knew  when,  and 
suggesting  at  every  step  the  probability  of  giving  way,  and 


letting  you  down  thousands  of  feet  upon  jagged  rocks,  and 
bounding  from  one  to  another  till  your  corpse  finally  struck 
water,  a  torrent  as  wild  and  uncontrollable  as  Niagara.  The 
gallery  did  not  go  down  and  we  had  gone  to  the  end  and 


536 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


admired  the  waterfall,  and  then  on  our  way  back  to  Chamo- 
nix  that  courier  insisted  upon  our  going  up  the  Glacier  des 
Bossons. 

In  vain  we  demurred,  and  told  him  we  could  see  the  Glacier 
from  the  road  quite  well  enough.  He  insisted.  It  was  an  easy 
path  clear  up,  and  the  view  was  something  marvelous.  Our 
whole  visit  to  Europe  would  be  a  failure  if  we  missed  this  view. 
There  was  no  help  for  it  and  we  went.  The  ladies  were 
provided  with  mules,  while  the  gentlemen,  under  the  guidance 

of  the  courier,  strucii:  out  across 
lots. 

For   the   first    quarter  of   an 
hour  it  was  all  right.     There  was 
a  good  path,  and  the  hill  was  not 
very  steep.     We  crossed  a  number 
of  little   brooks   that    had    their 
source  in  the  glaciers  above,  and 
emptied  into  the  Arve  in  the  val- 
Jl^l^       U  /^K§k         ^^^   below.     The   woods  through 
mm  t     ^^msiiu.        which  we  passed  were  huge  pine 
trees,  among   which   the   narrow 
path   wound  its  tortuous  course. 
Occasionally  there  would  be  a  lit- 
tle clearing  and  then  we  could  get 
a  glimpse  of  the  valley  and  the 
mountains  towering  high  above  us. 
The   higher  we  ascended   the 
more  precipitous  became  the  path. 
We  found  huge  bowlders  obstructing  our  way,  and  soon  had  to 
begin  climbing  in  real  earnest,  oftentimes  using  both  hands  and 
feet.     At  length  we  reached  a  narrow  ledge  that  led  directly 
to  the  little  house  at  the  foot  of  the  glacier,  whither  we  Avere 
going.     This  ledge  was  like  a  backbone,  with  only  a  tiny  path 
two  or  three  feet  Avide.     On  the  right,  was  a  sharp  descent  of 
several  hundred  feet  to  the  woods  through  which  we  passed. 
Beyond  these  woods  could  be  seen  bright  spots  of  green  and 
yeUow,  where  harvesting  was  in  progress.     Further  down  was 
the  Chamonix  valley,  its  broad  acres  divided  by  the  silvery 
Arve,  that  starts  from  the  Mer  de  Glace,  and  empties  into  the 
Ehone,  just  below  Geneva. 


CREVASSES. 


THE   TRIALS    OF    THE   FAT   MAN. 


537 


^^m^0^ 


On  the  left  there  is  a  descent  of  some  five  or  six  hundred 
feet  to  the  ice  crags  of  the  glacier.  It  requires  steady  nerves 
and  a  sure  foot  to  walk  along  this  dizzy  path,  for  a  stumble  or 
fall  would  be  attended  with  fatal  results. 

And  right  here  was  where  the  infernal  persistency  of  the 
courier  got  in  its  worst  work.  One  of  the  party  was  a  gentle- 
man of  full  habit,  who  weighs,  perhaps,  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  pounds,  one  of  that  kind  whose  head  becomes 
dizzy  when  at  any  elevation,  who  hardly  dares  to  look  out  of  a 
third-story  window,  one  of 
those  who  have  an  almost  un- 
controllable desire  to  spring  off 
any  elevation  they  may  be  so 
unfortunate  as  to  be  placed  up- 
on. He  came  panting  like  ai 
second  Falstaff  to  this  narrow 
ledge,  the  edge  of  which  was 
not  more  than  three  feet  wide, 
and  the  descent  on  either  side 
was  hundreds  of  feet.  It  was! 
a  place  that  nothing  but  a  goat' 
or  a  born  Alpine  climber  should 
ever  thinly  of  Assaying,  and  here 
was  a  fleshy  party,  with  a  dizzy 
head,  never  sure-footed  in  any- 
thing but  his  morals,  with  an 
impulse  to  jump  down  a  chasm, 
either  to  the  right  or  to  the  left ! 

He  did  not  desire  to  jump,  he  could  not  go  forward,  and  to 
go  backward  was  just  as  impossible.  He  thought  of  his 
pleasant  home  across  the  Atlantic,  he  thought  of  his  wife 
and  family,  his  creditors,  and  all  who  had  an  interest  in  him, 
and  shut  his  eyes  and  sat  down,  clinging  desperately  to  the 
few  bushes  that  were  within  reach. 

Another  of  the  party,  who  had  skipped  very  like  a  goat 
over  the  ridge,  and  had  gained  the  porch  of  the  little  tavern, 
saw  his  danger,  and  called  the  courier.  The  party  were  aU 
amused  at  the  predicament  of  the  fleshy  man  except  the 
fleshy  man  himself.    To  him  it  was  no  joke.    He  was  anchored 


THE   MORAINE. 


538 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


in  the  fix  described  by  the  colored  clergyman.     "  On  de  one 
side,  bredern,  is  perdition,  and  on  de  oder  damnation." 

But  the  courier,  good  for  something,  acted  promptly.  He 
seized  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  rushed  down 
the  path.  He  bade  the  victim  of  an  attempt  to  do  something 
he  couldn't  do,  to  eat  of  the  loaf  and  drink  all  he  could  of 


aiiill^liliiiii 


^li.  'li 


THE  DILEMMA— WmCH  SIDE  TO  FALL. 

wine  (which  he  did,  especially  the  latter),  shut  his  eyes,  grab 
his  hand,  and  run  ;  adding  cheerfully : — 

"Geep  your  eysh  shut  dight — oof  yoo  opens  dem  at  all 
yoo  are  gone — and  run  mit  me." 

In  this  way  the  poor  man  was  brought  to  the  little  tavern, 
where  he  sat  in  gloomy  silence  while  the  rest  of  the  party 
essayed  the  glacier. 

I  may  add  here  that  he  made  the  descent  safely.  There 
is  another  path,  a  mile  or  two  longer,  but  entirely  safe.  He 
didn't  mind  the  mile  or  two. 


SOMETHING    ABOUT    GLACIERS 


539 


The  Glacier  des  Bossons,  while  not  so  imposing  as  the  Mer 
de  Glace,  has  a  great  many  wonderful  points.  Here  at  the 
beginning  of  this  dangerous  ledge  is  one  of  the  best  places  to 
study  it.  The  surface,  rough  and  jagged,  with  sharp  peaks 
and  crags  from  three  to  twenty  feet  high,  is  partiall}^  covered 
with  slate,  rocks  and  debris,  while  beneath  this,  bright  and 
sparkling,  is  the  pure,  solid  ice,  with  its  greenish-blue  tint. 
Just  opposite 
us,  resting  on 
the  ice,  is  an 
immense  bowl- 
der that  must 
weigh  at  least 
twenty  tons, 
while  all  about 
are  smaller 
stones,  varying 
in  weight  from 
one  hundred 
pounds  to  four 
or  G.Ye  tons. 
These  immense 
stones  became 
detached  from 
the  mountain, 
ages  ago,  by 
the  continued 
pressure  of  the 
solid  ice,  ex- 
panded by  the 
heat  and  con- 
tracted again 
by  the  cold, 
and  have  grad-  rocks  polisred  by  old  glaciers. 

ually  been  carried  down  the  mountain  on  the  bosom  of  this 
imperceptibly  moving  field  of  ice. 

The  warm  sun,  which  beats  down  upon  us  with  terrible 
effect,  gradually  melts  exposed  portions  of  the  snow  and  ice, 
and  tiny  ri\Tilets  are  seen  trickling  along  in  the  crevasses  and 


540  JsASBY    IN    EXILE. 

depressions.  They  come  together  at  the  foot  of  the  glacier, 
and,  after  a  fall  of  about  sixty  feet,  they  wander  off  down  the 
woods  to  join  the  Arve. 

As  we  stand  there  enjoying  the  beautiful  view  down  the 
Chamonix  Yalley,  the  courier  breaks  in  and  says  it  is  time 
to  go  on.  Day  dreaming  is  over,  and,  with  no  kindly  feelings 
toward  him,  we  push  on  up  the  steep  and  narrow  ledge. 

At  the  Pavilion,  a  little  one-stor}^  house,  we  obtained  a  fine 
view  of  the  glacier.  "We  also  obtained  some  fine  wine  and 
bread.  At  this  height  the  air  is  so  rarified  that  a  little  wine 
is  all  that  one  can  drink.  But  after  the  long,  hard  walk 
through  the  intense  heat,  it  is  very  refreshing,  and  revives 
one's  drooping  spirits  wonderfully. 

Leaving  the  Pavilion,  a  narrow  foot-path,  cut  out  of  the 
side  of  the  mountain,  leads  to  a  long  flight  of  steps,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  we  reach  the  ice.  There  a  long  scramble 
over  its  slippery  surface,  to  the  entrance  of  the  cavern. 
Imagine  a  soHd  wall  of  clear,  transparent  ice.  Into  this  by 
means  of  picks  and  spades  a  cave  eighty-five  yards  long,  eight 
feet  wide  and  seven  feet  high  has  been  dug.  As  you  go  in, 
the  little  lights  flickering  along  the  side  seem  to  say,  "  Who 
enters  here  leaves  hope  behind."  But  we  push  on  through  the 
dripping  water  at  the  entrance,  and  finally  find  ourselves 
walking  on  ice  that  is  hard  and  dry,  while  the  atmosphere  is 
cold  enough  to  make  an  overcoat  comfortable. 

From  the  end  of  the  cavern  the  view  is  like  a  glimpse  of 
fairyland.  Away  down  the  dimly  lighted  tunnel,  the  tiny  lights 
reflected  against  the  crystalline  blue,  can  be  seen  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  ice,  gradually  growing  bluer  and  bluer  until,  at 
the  very  entrance,  where  the  sunlight  pours  down  upon  it,  it 
becomes  nearly  transparent,  forming  a  dazzling  frame  to  the 
bright  picture  of  the  glacier,  the  forest-covered  mountain  and 
brilliant  sky  beyond. 

As  we  are  about  to  emerge  from  the  cavern  the  guide 
shows  us  a  hole  in  the  side,  where  we  can  see,  some  distance 
off,  a  subterranean  stream,  that  has  forced  a  channel  through 
the  ice.  Here  w^e  can  hear  most  distinctly  the  glacier  mills  in 
full  operation.  There  is  one,  very  large,  near  this  spot, 
said  to   be  sixteen  hundred  feet    deep.     It  was   formed  by 


MARKING    SHEETS    AND    THINGS.  541 

the  action  of  huge  stones  moved  by  the  water  against  the  ice, 
making,  during  the  ages  the  glacier  has  been  in  existence,  a 
deep  round  Avell  in  the  ice.  Ttiis  low,  rumbling  noise  we  hear 
is  the  water  rushing  into  that  well  with  terrific  force,  and 
working  the  stones  against  its  sides. 

But  we  are  aweary  of  mountain  climbing  and  glacier 
exploring,  and  it  is  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  we  retrace  our 
steps,  take  another  glass  of  wine  at  the  Pavilion,  and,  after  a 
short  rest,  descend  the  mountain  by  an  easy  path.  A  short 
drive,  and  we  are  in  Chamonix,  some  of  the  party  telhng 
marvelous  stories  of  our  hair-breadth  escapes  during  our 
perilous  ascent  of  Mt.  Blanc.  Of  course  they  didn't  go  up  Mt. 
Blanc,  but  the  glacier  gave  them  all  the  experience  in  moun- 
tain climbing  they  wanted.  It  satisfied  them  just  as  well  as 
though  they  had  scaled  the  great  peak. 

As  a  matter  of  course  all  these  people  purchased  Alpen- 
stocks, which  they  had  marked  "Mt.  Blanc,  July  22, 1861,"  and 
were  all  photographed  in  Alpine  climbing  costume,  which  the 
enterprising  photographer  leases  you  for  a  consideration. 

And  these  photographs  went  home  with  the  Alpenstocks, 
and  are  to-day  being  displayed  upon  center-tables  and  in 
albums,  while  the  fraudulent  Alpenstock  has  the  post  of  honor 
in  libraries. 

Also  we  did  n't  see  any  chamois,  nor  any  chamois  hunters, 
nor  any  sweet  Swiss  maidens  in  picturesque  costumes.  Like 
the  fever  and  ague  in  the  West,  'Hhere  ain't  none  of  it  here, 
but  there's  any  quantity  of  it  over  in  the  next  county." 

That  evening,  in  the  hotel,  Tibbitts  became  indignant.  He 
noticed  for  the  first  time  that  the  sheets  and  pillow  cases  on 
his  bed  were  marked  with  the  name  of  the  hotel  in  indel- 
ible ink. 

"What  is  this  for?"  he  demanded. 

"  To  keep  guests  of  the  house  from  carrying  them  off,  I 
suppose." 

"Then  the  prevailing  impression  is  that  everybody  in  the 
world  is  a  thief?  The  idea  is  that  I,  Tibbitts,  am  going  to 
snake  off  these  sheets  and  cram  them  in  my  vahse  and  tote 
them  all  over  the  continent,  and  finally  take  them  to  Oshkosh 
for  my  mother's  use ! 


542  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

"  It  is  my  opinion,  and  I  say  it  deliberately,  that  the  vices: 
of  one-half  of  mankind  keep  the  other  half  of  mankind  busy.. 
It  is  the  wickedness  of  man  that  makes  courts  necessary,  and 
sheriffs  and  policemen,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But  for 
vice  we  could  dispense  with  nine-tenths  of  the  churches  and 
ministry,  and  we  could  let  up  on  standing  armies.  All  the 
locksmiths  and  the  time  wasted  upon  marking  these  sheets 
and  pillow  cases  could  have  been  devoted  to  the  multiphcation 
of  the  wealth  of  the  world.  Think  of  the  number  of  hotels  in 
the  world,  and  the  number  of  sheets  and  pillow  cases  in  them, 
and  the  quantity  of  indehble  ink  and  the  time  spent  in  using  it, 
just  to  keep  them  from  being  stolen !  The  grand  aggregate  is 
appalling.  And  then  add  to  that  all  the  rest  of  the  precau- 
tions, and  mighty  expensive  they  are,  that  have  to  be  taken  to 
keep  the  property  you  have,  and  it  amounts  to  the  absorption 
of  fully  a  half  of  the  industry  of  the  world. 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind  what  I  am  going  to  do.  I  am 
going  home,  and  shall  immediately  organize  societies  for  the 
promotion  of  common  honesty.  I  shall  have  to  pay  for  the 
marking  of  these  sheets  and  pillow-cases  in  my  bill  to-morrow. 
In  self-defense  these  societies  must  be  organized,  and  this  sort 
of  thing  done  away.  Had  the  time  employed  in  marking 
these  sheets  been  Used  in  making  cheese,  we  should  not  have 
to  pay  such  prices  for  it  in  America.  Vice  is  an  expensive 
luxury  —  it  eats  two  ways ;  it  consumes  the  time  of  the  vicer, 
and  the  time  of  another  man  to  watch  him.  It  must  be 
crushed  out!" 

And  Tibbitts  went  to  bed  full  of  projects  for  the  sup- 
pression of  vice  and  for   the  eventual  universality  of  virtue. 

We  had  at  the  hotel,  of  course,  the  everlasting  talker — 
that  man  is  ubiquitous,  and  as  frequent  as  sin.  The  class 
was  represented  with  us  by  a  commission  merchant  from 
Milwaukee. 

One  evening  the  discussion  happened  to  turn  upon  the 
tariff  question,  and  overflowing  its  banks,  as  conversation 
always  does,  meandered  off  into  a  variety  of  channels. 

One  gentleman  asked  Jones,  the  Milwaukee  man,  why 
wheat  could  be  manufactured  mto  flour  at  Minneapohs,  and 
not  at  points  further  East. 


THE    MILWAUKEE    MAN.  543 

And  this  question  set  Jones  running,  and  he  answered : 

"  That  question  is  easily  answered.  I'll  illustrate  it.  You 
know  Filkins  &  Beaver,  of  Buffalo?  No?  I  have  always 
known  'em  —  ever  since  I  have  been  in  the  business.  I  have 
sold  'em  many  a  thousand  bushel  of  wheat  since  I  have  been 
in  Milwaukee,  and  many  a  thousand  barrel  of  flour  for  'em 
when  I  was  in  Toronto.  Ef  there  is  anything  about  wheat 
and  flour  that  they  don't  know",  you  just  want  to  go  and  tell 
'em,  you  do,  and  they  are  the  whitest  men  in  the  business. 
They  have  been  longer  in  it  than  any  two  men  livin'.  They 
have  the  immense  Eagle  mill  in  Buffalo,  and  the  Excelsior  in 
Lockport,  dow^n  on  the  second  dock,  the  best  water-power  in 
Lockport,  and  that's  saying  a  good  deal,  for  the  fall  there  is 
immense  —  it  is  the  water-power  that  has  made  Lockport. 
Take  that  away  and  there  wouldn't  be  anything  of  that  city  at 
all,  and  the  people  there  are  enterprising  enough  to  use  it, 
they  are.  Filkins  &  Beaver,  take  all  their  mills  together,  must 
flour  one  hundred  thousand  bushels  of  wheat  a  day,  and  that's 
no  small  business,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  It  takes  good 
heads  to  run  such  a  business,  y'  bet  yer.  They  know  me 
mighty  well,  I  tell  ye,  for  I  have  done  business  with  'em  for 
nigh  onto  thirty  years,  and  every  time  I  go  to  Buffalo,  and  I 
have  to  go  there  once  a  month,  I  have  to  stop  with  either  one 
or  the  other  of  'em.  The}^  w^ouldn't  any  more  let  me  go  to  a 
hotel  than  they'd  let  me  sleep  on  the  street. 

''  Both  of  'em  came  from  the  same  village  in  England  and 
both  Avent  back  and  married  the  girls  they  were  engaged  to 
afore  they  left,  and  then  brought  'em  to  Buffalo,  and  -settled 
down  to  work.  They  worked  themselves,  they  did,  y'  bet  yer. 
First  they  bought  the  little  Eagle  mill,  that  hadn't  only  two 
run  of  stone,  and  they  did  the  whole  work  with  their  ow^n 
hands,  they  made  a  great  deal  of  money  for  they  were  close 
operators,  and  kept  the  run  of  the  markets,  and  they  enlarged 
the  Eagle  till  it  kivered  all  the  ground  they  had,  and  then  they 
built  the  Continental,  and  that  w^as  too  small  for  'em,  and  then 
they  went  to  Lockport  and  bought  a  water-power  there,  and 
built  the  Excelsior,  and  another  one  at  Wellsville,  and  I  don't 
know  where  all. 

In    ghded    the    Young    Man    who    Knows    Everything, 


544  NASBY    IN    EXILE 

as  chirpy  as  possible,  and  he  broke  into  Jones'  narration  with- 
out as  much  as  saying  "  by  your  leave." 

''  Jones,  there's  no  use  in  trying  it.  You  can't  cover  up  bad 
actions  with  loud  professions.  You  can't  smother  the  scent  of 
a  skunk  by  singing  '  Old  Hundred.' " 

"What  in  blazes  has  bad  actions  and  skunks  to  do  with — " 

He  might  as  well  have  talked  to  an  Atlantic  gale.  The 
young  man  ambled  off  serenely  and  attacked  another  party 
with  the  same  cheerfulness  with  which  he  assailed  Jones,  who 
resumed  his  narrative : 

"As  I  was  saying  when  that  blasted  —  well,  then  they 
bought  a  propeller,  the  old  Ada,  and  they  paid  for  it  in  cash. 
They  always  pay  cash  for  everything.  There  ain't  none  of 
their  paper  afloat,  and  they  have  the  prettiest  bank  balance  of 
any  concern  in  Buffalo. 

"  I  always  have  a  good  time  with  'em,  no  matter  which  I 
stay  with.  Sometimes  I  go  to  Filkins'  and  sometimes  to 
Beaver's.  Filkins'  wife  is  a  rather  high-falutin  sort  of  a 
woman,  and  when  Filkins  got  rich  she  made  him  go  and  buy  a 
lot  on  Eagle  street — no  cheap  lot,  bet  yer  —  one  hundred  feet 
front,  and  the  Lord  knows  how  deep,  and  she  made  him  build 
the  best  house  on  it  there  is  in  Buffalo.  She  has  conserva- 
tories, and  a  carriage,  and  velvet  carpets,  pianos,  and  bath 
rooms,  and  silver,  and  everything  bang  up,  and  when  they 
dine  the  old  man  has  to  sit  down  in  a  dress  coat,  with  a  nigger 
behind  him.     Oh,  it's  nifty,  y'  bet  yer. 

"But  old  Beaver  he'd  never  do  anything  of  the  kind.  He 
stuck  to  the  little  frame  cottage  he  built  for  himself  down  on 
Swan  street,  and  he  sets  down  to  his  dinner  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
and  eats  off'n  stone  ware,  and  has  no  wines  like  Filkins,  and 
swears  he  would  n't  trade  his  toby  of  ale  for  all  the  wines  that 
ever  were  imported.  And  his  wife  only  keeps  one  hired  gal, 
and  does  the  heft  of  the  work  about  the  house  herself.  You 
kin  see  her  any  time  with  her  sleeves  rolled  up  and  her  apern 
on,  bustlin'  about  in  jist  the  same  old  way,  and  they  have  their 
friends  on  Sunday  to  take  pot-luck  with  'em,  and  I  ain't  sure 
after  all  but  that  Beaver  is  right.  He  swears  he  will  never 
build  a  new  house  till  he  has  thirty  grand-children,  and  then 
only  one  jist  large  enough  to  accommodate  and  hold  'em  all  at 


END    OF    FILKINS    &    BEAVER.  546 

one  table  Christmas  day.  He  laughs  at  Filkins  with  his  fine 
airs,  though  they  are  the  best  friends  in  the  world.  You 
could  n't  get  a  word  of  difference  between  'em  for  any  one  of 
their  mills,  or  for  all  of  'em  together. 

"  I  remember  in  1865  I  was  in  Buffalo,  and  one  of  their  pro- 
pellers —  it  was  the  Jeannette,  I  believe  —  no,  it  was  the  Ariel, 
had  just — " 

One  by  one  the  party  had  slipped  out  of  the  smoking-room 
at  the  beginning  of  the  new  chapter  of  the  experience  of 
Filkins  &  Beaver,  the  termination  of  which  no  man  could  fore- 
tell. I  took  advantage  of  his  raising  his  glass  to  his  lips  to  get 
away  myself.  I  presume  he  finished  the  story  to  the  waiter, 
for  the  next  day  when  I  casually  remarked  that  Jones  was 
coming  he  looked  frightened,  and  quietly  slipped  out  of  the 
room. 

But  no  one  of  the  party  ever  learned  why  wheat  could  not 
be  advantageously  floured  east  of  Minneapolis. 
35 


CHAPTEE  XXXYI. 


IN    SWITZERLAND. 


The  scenery  from  Chamonix  to  Geneva,  by  the  way  of 
Sallanches,  St.  Martin,  Cluses  and  Bonneville  is  magnificent. 
Leaving  Chamonix  the  road  winds  down  the  beautiful  valley 
with  the  Glacier  des  Bossons,  overshadowed  by  Mont  Blanc, 
on  the  right,  while  on  the  left  are  the  pretty  hamlets  and  fruit- 
ful farms  that  relieve  the  barren,  rugged  mountains  on  either 
side. 

.  The  road,  which  is  a  marvel  of  smoothness,  as  are  all  the 
roads  in  Switzerland,  crosses  and  recrosses  the  river  Arve, 
until,  after  passing  through  a  long  tunnel,  hewn  through  a 
massive  rock,  it  strikes  another  valley  and  makes  a  wide  sweep 
around  the  horseshoe-shaped  mountain,  giving  a  splendid  view 
up  and  down  the  valley.  Far  across  this  valley  is  a  long  high 
range  of  mountains  down  which  at  different  places  great  cata- ' 
racts  of  water  come  tumbling,  dashing  the  spray  high  in  air. 

Here  we  pass  through  the  pretty  village  of  St.  Gervais^ 
with  its  celebrated  baths.  Then  a  long  straight  drive  for  an 
hour  or  more,  and  with  an  extra  crack  of  the  whip  the  carriage 
whirls  into  Sallanches,  where  the  horses  are  changed,  while  the 
weary,  hot  and  dusty  travelers  rest  and  refresh  themselves. 

At  St.  Gervais  is  one  celebrated  bathing  establishment  con- 
'ducted  by  an  Englishman  and  patronized  almost  entirely  by 
English  and  Americans,  the  principal  treatment  being  for  rheu- 
matism and  kindred  diseases,  and  especially  for  the  alcoholic 
habit.  It  is  claimed  that  the  most  inveterate  drunkard  can  be 
cured  by  the  use  of  these  waters,  and  therefore  it  is  continually 
full  of  men  who  have  burned  life's  candle  at  both  ends,  and 
who  need  rest  from  their  vices,  and  moral,  as  well  as  physical 
recuperation. 

(546) 


547 

Tibbitts  determined  to  stay  a  week  and  test  the  efficacy  of 
the  waters. 

"I  shouldn't  need  it  if  I  could  have  the  regular  Oshkosh 
sod-corn,  but  a  foundation  of  vile  English  brandy,  and  the  edi- 
fice built  up  and  topped  off  with  French  cognac  is  too  much 
for  me.     I  will  test  the  waters." 

The  fact  that  a  half-dozen  very  wild  Americans  of  his  own 
age  and  tastes  were  at  the  establishment  was  really  what  induced 
him  to  stay,  but  he  repeated  over  and  again,  that  what  he 
wanted  was  to  stay  a  while  in  a  place  Avhere  rum  was  impossi- 
ble.    He  wanted  to  get  away  from  it. 

We  left  him,  and  the  next  week  I  received  a  letter,  the 
following  being  an  extract  therefrom : — 

"  I  did  not  go  over  to  the  Cure  at  once,  for  the  day  you  left  I  met  a 
young  American,  troubled  as  I  was,  who  decided  to  go  with  me.  Slosson 
(he  is  from  St.  Louis)  and  I,  having  met  the  proprietor  of  the  Cure  and 
taken  a  fancy  to  him,  determined  to  do  him  a  good  turn,  and  to  that  end 
we  would  not  go  to  his  establishment  till  we  had  got  ourselves  into  a 
condition  that  would  make  a  cure  creditable.  I  am  always  ready  to  make 
sacrifices  for  those  I  love. 

"We  then  went  over  to  the  establishment  to  get  out  of  the  way 
of  rum. 

"We  had  been  in  the  house  perhaps  five  minutes,  when  the  proprietor 
took  us  one  side  and  remarked,  casually,  that  while  he  would  not  advise 
any  one  in  the  establishment  to  drink,  if  one  must,  he  could  furnish  much 
better  liquor  than  could  be  had  in  the  village.  And  it  was  injurious  to 
those  taking  the  baths  to  walk  much  either  before  or  after. 

"It  is  a  good  thing  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  rum. 

"The  bar  man  was  an  American  who  could  mix  a  cocktail,  and  so  we 
drank  to  the  old  flag  and  went  to  our  dinner.  The  wine  at  the  place  is 
excellent. 

' '  After  dinner  we  walked  up  to  the  village  with  an  American  to 
whom  I  was  introduced,  and  he  took  us  to  a  very  comfortable  place 
where  the  cognac  was  good,  very  good,  and  we  samjDled  it  several  times. 

"  If  there  is  a  place  on  earth  where  the  alcohol  appetite  can  be  cured 
it  is  here. 

' '  On  the  way  down  the  main  street  of  the  village  we  stopped  in 
another  place  like  the  first  one ,  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  whether  there 
was  any  difference  in  cognac. 

' '  There  are  superior  facilities  for  getting  away  from  rum  at  this  place. 

'*  There  is  a  museum  in  the  village  M^hich  has  a  smoking  room 
attached,  which  we  visited  that  evening.  The  cognac  was  better  than 
at  the  first  place. 

"To  have  the  vile  stuff  out  of  reach  is  a  great  help  to  the  struggling 
victim  of  strong  drink. 


548 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


"  What  we  would  call  a  drug  store  in  Araerica  was  the  next  place  we 
visited,  to  have  some  prescriptions  filled,  and  the  proprietor,  an  English- 


THE  PATH  TO   THE  VILLAGE. 


man,  insisted  upon  our  tasting  some  very  old  brandy  he  kept  for  medicinal 
purposes. 

' '  There   is   no   place   in  the  world  where   you  are  so  safe   from   the 
destroyer  as  here. 


KEFOKM    AT    ST.    GERVAIS.  549 

* '  Returning  to  the  Cure  we  thought  it  unfair  not  to  patronize  it.  We 
did  —  twice. 

"  St.  Gervais  offers  inducements  for  those  really  trying  to  reform. 

"We  went  to  our  room  and  sat  down  to  a  quiet  game  of  poker.  It 
was  suggested  that  it  would  be  dry  work,  and  a  bottle  of  cognac  was 
ordered,  and  if  I  remember,  there  wasn't  enough  left  to  make  a  cocktail 
for  a  flea.     The  very  smell  was  gone. 

"For  absolute  absence  of  temptation  to  drink,  St.  Gervais  is  the  place. 
I  will  write  you  concerning  the  water  when  I  have  tasted  some. 

*'  P.  S. —  I  forgot  to  mention  that  another  thing  you  come  here  for  is 
to  get  regular  sleep,  and  plenty  of  it,  in  the  early  part  of  the  night. 
Having  resolved  upon  this,  we  played  poker  till  three  in  the  morning. 

"If  you  have  a  friend  who  desires  to  reform,  by  all  means  advise  him 
to  come  to  St.  Gervais.  There  is  no  such  place  on  the  continent  for 
reform.  A  man  in  the  next  room,  with  acute  inflammatory  rheumatism, 
actually  complained  of  us  this  morning.  He  said  he  could  n't  sleep  with 
us  near  him.  We  sent  word  to  him  that  there  were  other  hotels,  but  that 
we  could  n't  peril  our  chances  of  reform  by  moving.  We  were  determined 
to  persevere  till  we  had  made  new  men  of  ourselves.  We  were  very  posi- 
tive, and  would  not  move. 

"We  could  hear  the  rheumatic  gentleman  swear,  through  the  wall, 
but  we  sat  there  reforming  all  the  same,  and  smiling  at  his  irascibility. 
.  Why  will  such  men  come  to  places  intended  as  reformatories  ?  What  is  a 
man  with  rheumatism,  inflammatory  or  otherwise,  to  five  men  trying  to 
mend  their  ways?  I  think  we  played  an  hour  longer  than  we  would,  for 
the  pleasure  of  hearing  him  profane. 

' '  St.  Gervais  is  a  good  place  to  come  to  to  get  away  from  rum,  but  it 
is  of  no  account  for  rheumatism.  This  man  thought  so,  for  he  left  the 
house  in  the  morning.  I  will  write  you  about  the  baths  to-morrow.  I 
have  no  doubt  they  are  good.  It  is  said  they  do  away  with  the  rum 
appetite." 

From  Sallanches  the  road  is  through  a  most  beautiful 
country.  As  we  approach  St.  Martin  the  carriage  is  stopped, 
so  that  we  can  have  one  last  look  at  the  dazzling  peaks  of 
Mt.  Blanc.  They  are  at  the  very  head  of  the  valley,  and 
although  twelve  miles  away,  in  a  straight  line,  they  loom  up  so 
magnificently  that  they  seem  only  a  short  distance  from  where 
we  stand.     It  is  a  sight  never  to  be  forgotten. 

The  valley  now  assumes  a  more  barren  appearance,  Avith 
but  little  to  interest  one.  An  occasional  waterfall,  a  handsome 
hedge  or  two,  relieves  the  dull  monotony  of  the  ride,  till 
Bonneville,  a  picturesque  town,  the  capital  of  the  province,  is 
reached.  There  we  have  dinner,  and  then  on  towards  Geneva, 
passing  the  two  ruined  towers  of  the  ancient  castle  of  Fan- 
cingny,  after  which  the  province  was  named.     Crossing  the 


550 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


lono^  substantial  bridge  of  the  Foron  river,  we  come  to  Anne- 
masse,  and  then  rush  through  a  number  of  pretty  little  villages, 
reaching  the  suburbs  of  Geneva,  and,  after  having  been  on  the 


road  since  seven  o'clock,  finally  draw  up  at  the  hotel  on  the 
lake,  a  thoroughly  tired,  hot  and  dusty  party. 

This  is  the  especial  part  of  Switzerland  where  beggary  is 


THE    SWISS    SYSTEM    OF    BEGGING.  551 

reduced  to  a  science.  Your  carriage  is  going  at  a  very  rapid 
rate,  but  in  advance  you  notice  one  of  those  ugly  Swiss  cot- 
tages. The  mother  is  in  the  door,  holding  w^ell  in  hand  four 
children,  ranging  in  age  from  five  to  ten,  boys  and  girls.  As 
you  get  opposite  the  door,  she  looses  her  hold  upon  them,  and 
then  commences  the  chase.  These  children,  trained  as  they 
are,  can  keep  up  with  a  carriage  at  a  seven-mile  an-hour  pace, 
and,  bare-headed  and  bare-footed,  they  do  it,  two  on  each 
side.  They  make  no  appeal ;  they  say  nothing,  either  by  word 
or  look ;  they  simply  run  by  the  side  of  the  carriage,  as  though 
it  were  a  race  intended  as  a  test  of  the  endurance  of  Swiss 
children  against  Swiss  horses.  After  ten  minutes  of  this,  you 
begin  to  feel  some  concern  for  the  children,  and  you  ask  the 
courier  what  they  want. 

"  Yat  dey  vant  ?  Oof  you  vants  to  kit  rid  mit  dem,  fling 
'em  some  sous.     Dey  vill  run  into  Zhenave  oof  you  ton't." 

And  so,  merely  to  get  them  out  of  your  sight,  knowing 
that  they  dare  not  go  home  to  their  mother  without  something, 
a  shower  of  sous  fall  in  the  dust,  w^hich  the  children  gather, 
and  return  to  the  cottage  to  wait  for  the  next  coach.  Some- 
times they  catch  one  on  the  return  trip,  which  is  good  luck. 

It  is  the  most  systematic  begging  I  have  yet  encountered. 
The  strong  point  in  it  is  the  not  asking.  There  is  no  profes- 
sional whine,  no  story ;  nothing  but  a  sturdy  assault  upon 
your  sympathies.  They  make  the  legs  take  the  place  of  the 
tongue.  It  is  very  well  done,  and,  as  carriages  loaded  with 
tourists  pass  every  half  hour,  it  must  pay  well.  I  presume  the 
rent  of  these  cottages  is  fixed  with  reference  to  their  facilities 
for  begging.  An  advertisement  of  one  of  them  reads  as  fol- 
lows, I  suppose : 

FOR  RENT— An  eligible  begging  station,  on  the  route  from  Chamonix 
to  Geneva.  Regular  diligence  route,  and  the  favorite  route  for  carriages 
of  rich  English  and  Americans.  There  are  no  hills  near,  the  course  in  each 
direction  is  level  for  miles,  permitting  children  to  run  a  long  distance 
without  exhaustion.  Especially  recommended  for  very  young  children. 
Half  hour  after  dining  station,  which  ensures  good  nature  on  the  part  of 
passengers.  The  most  certain  and  profitable  location  on  the  route.  Owner 
will  take  a  percentage  of  the  collections  for  rent,  or  will  rent  for  a  cer- 
tainty. 

The  journey  by  cars  from  Geneva  to  Interlaken  is  delight- 


552  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

ful.  The  road  follows  the  left  bank  of  Lake  Geneva  until  Lau- 
sanne is  reached.  'Now  and  then  a  break  in  the  woods  gives  a 
glimpse  of  the  blue  waters  of  the  lake,  with  the  mountains 
beyond,  then  a  long,  dark  tunnel  shuts  off  every  view,  but  only 
for  a  few  minutes.  Then  we  enter  a  country  that  is  magnifi- 
cent in  its  quiet  beauty.  The  hillsides  are  cultivated  to  the 
summit.  Rich  vineyards  with  their  luscious  grapes  fast  ripen- 
ing in  the  sun,  fine  farms  with  the  variegated  fields  hide  from 
sight  the  cold  gray  stone  that  makes  the  Chamonix  valley  so 
desolate. 

After  passing  Lausanne,  Lake  Leman  is  left  behind  and  we 
go  nearly  due  north  to  Friburgj  a  beautiful  town  situated  on  a 
rocky  eminence  and  nearly  surrounded  by  the  River  Sarine. 

Friburg,  like  every  Swiss  city,  has  its  organ  and  legend. 
The  organ  is  one  of  the  finest  of  Europe,  and  is  played  every 
afternoon  and  evening,  provided  the  admissions  amount  to 
twenty  francs.  If  there  is  not  the  vast  amount  of  four  dollars 
in  the  house  the  curtain  does  not  go  up,  or  rather,  there  is  no 
performance.  However,  there  are  generally  enough  tourists 
present  to  justify  the  performance,  and  the  listener  is  well 
rewarded  for  the  expenditure  of  time. 

In  front  of  the  council  house  is  an  immense  lime  tree,  partly 
supported  by  stone  pillars.  It  has  its  legend.  It  is  said  that  a 
young  man  of  Friburg — a  participant  in  the  great  victory  of 
Morat,  in  the  year  14Y6,  was  sent  after  the  battle  to  convey 
the  glad  news  to  his  townsmen.  He  arrived,  breathless  and 
exhausted,  so  much  so  that  he  had  just  strength  left  to  gasp 
the  word  "  Victory ! "  and  expired.  There  was  in  his  lifeless 
hand  a  lime  twig  which  the  citizens  planted,  and  it  grew  to  be 
the  patriarch  of  trees  it  now  is,  and  it  is  guarded  with  as  much 
care  as  though  the  legend  were  actually  true. 

How  many  in  our  late  war  ran  from  battle-fields,  who 
might  have  had  lime  twigs  in  their  hands  if  they  had  waited 
long  enough  to  get  them.  But  they  did  not.  They  were  in 
too  great  a  hurry  to  reach  Canada,  from  which  they  will  all 
(1882)  return  to  claim  pensions  under  the  arrearages  of  pensions 
act. 

It  would  have  been  well  for  the  country  if  all  of  this  class 
had  imitated  the  example  of  the  young  man  of  Friburg,  and 


BERNE    AND    BEAKS.  553 

expired.  The  citizens  could  well  have  afforded  the  time  to 
plant  the  twigs  in  their  hands. 

Only  a  short  stop  is  made  here,  and  then  to  Berne,  one  of 
the  most  interesting  cities  in  Switzerland. 

Berne  is  tlje  city  of  bears,  and  were  it  located  in  Wisconsin 
would  be  called  Bearville.  A  bear  was  its  origin.  Berthold 
DeZahringen,  some  centuries  ago,  killed  a  tremendous  bear  on 
the  ground  now  occupied  by  the  pretty  city,  and  founded  a 
town  in  commemoration  of  the  event,  and  so  the  bear  became 
as  xjommon  in  Berne  as  the  lion  is  in  England,  or  the  eagle  in 
America.  There  is  bear  everywhere.  The  public  decorations 
are  in  the  form  of  bears,  the  flags  have  bears  on  them,  the 
bread  is  stamped  with  bears,  the  pot  you  drink  your  beer  out 
of  is  in  form  a  bear ;  the  children's  toys  are  all  bears,  and  the 
city  keeps  two  bear-pits,  in  which  a  dozen,  more  or  less,  fine 
specimens  are  kept.  Not  many  years  ago  an  English  officer, 
who,  with  his  lately  wedded  bride,  were  doing  Switzerland,  fell 
into  one  of  these  pits,  and  after  a  desperate  struggle  with  the 
ferocious  brutes,  was  literally  torn  to  pieces  in  the  sight  of  his 
agonized  wife.  I  could  not  learn  who  it  was  the  heart-broken 
wife  married  the  next  year,  or  whether  she  married  well 
or  not. 

It  is  a  quaint  and  curious  old  city,  and  well  worth  a  day  or 
two.  The  situation  is  particularly  beautiful,  and  as  it  has  pre- 
served the  peculiar  characteristics  of  the  long  ago,  it  is  an 
instructive  place. 

In  the  older  section  the  streets  have  no  sidewalks,  the 
ground  floors  being  made  into  arcades,  with  the  houses  above 
supported  upon  arches,  under  which  you  walk.  It  is  always 
well  for  an  American  to  visit  the  older  portions  of  these  cities, 
that  he  may  more  fervently  thank  heaven  that  his  lot  was  cast 
in  a  new  country,  where  tliere  is  no  ancient  and  inconvenient 
rubbish  to  worry  him.  There  is  more  of  convenience  in  any 
one  modern  American  house  than  there  is  in  all  of  the  old  part 
Berne,  or,  for  that  matter,  of  any  ancient  city.  They  do  well 
to  look  at,  but  that  is  all  the  use  they  should  be  put  to.  I  have 
a  profound  sympathy  for  the  people  condemned  to  live  in  them. 

Berne  is  the  capital  of  the  little  Repubhc,  and  here  its 
Congress  meets.     Its  sessions  last  a  month,  as  a  rule,  and  then 


554  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Congress  adjourns,  and  the  members  go  home.  The  country 
is  too  poor  to  have  much  to  steal,  and  consequently  a  short 
session  is  sufficient. 

I  was  shaved  in  Berne,  and,  speaking  of  shaving  and  bar- 
bers generally,  I  want  to  say  all  I  have  to  say  on  that  subject 
at  once. 

There  is  no  barber  like  the  American  barber,  and  no  such 
comfort  anywhere  in  barbers  as  we  enjoy  at  home.  Tourists 
have  complained  of  the  straight  chairs,  the  dull  razors,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  and  with  some  reason,  though  it  is  not  as 
bad  as  represented.  I  have  never  known  of  any  one  being 
absolutely  killed  by  an  European  barber,  either  at  sight  or 
sixty  days. 

It  is  true  that  you  do  not  have  the  luxurious  reclining 
chair,  nor  the  soothing  manipulations  of  a  deft  artist,  nor  the 
delightful  hair  dressing,  and  all  that.  In  England  you  are 
seated  in  a  common,  straight-backed  chair,  a  napkin  is  adjusted 
closely  about  your  neck,  a  dab  of  soap,  three  strokes  of  a  bad 
razor,  and  you  are  permitted  to  staunch  the  blood  and  wash 
off  the  soap  yourself.  If  you  desire  your  hair  dressed,  as  a 
very  clumsy  brushing  is  called,  it  is  ^'  tuppence  extra." 

In  France  the  operation  is  the  same,  only  the  barber,  being 
always  a  statesman,  talks  you  to  the  verge  of  madness.  He 
knows  that  you  do  not  understand  a  word  of  his  language,  but 
he  talks  on  cheerfully  just  the  same,  till  he  is  through,  and 
really  believes  he  has  entertained  you. 

The  German  barber  does  not  talk  you  to  death,  for  he  is 
by  nature  phlegmatic.  He  stays  by  you  longer,  however,  and 
leaves  less  of  your  face  to  carry  away  than  either  the  English 
or  French  torturer.    He  wants  to  earn  his  money,  and  he  does. 

The  Swiss  is  less  airy  than  the  Frenchman,  and  more  active 
than  the  German,  for,  very  likely,  he  is  of  both  nationalities. 
He  is  more  careful,  likewise.  When  his  razor  enters  the  flesh, 
he  does  not  slice  the  whole  side  of  the  face  off,  for  his  time  is 
not  occupied  with  talk,  as  is  the  Frenchman,  nor  is  he  so  heavy 
as  the  German.  N'o,  indeed !  When  he  sees  that  his  razor  has 
cut  through  the  skin,  and  is  entering  the  flesh,  he  stops  right 
there,  and  calls  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  he  has  stopped, 
and  claims  some  credit  for  not  carving  off  a  half  pound  or  more. 


BARBERS. 


555 


French,  German,  and  Swiss  allow  you  to  wash  your  own 
face,  and  comb  your  own  hair,  and  otherwise  fix  yourself,  but 
the  Swiss  is  the  best  of  the  three. 

But  even  in 
Switzerland, 
it  is  better  for 
the  tourist  if 
he  has  his 
own  shaving 
material,  and 
does  it  him- 
self. He  may 
cut  and  scar 
himself,  but 
he  will  have 
some  skin 
left,  and  may 
console  him- 
self that  the 
cutting  was 
the  result  of 
his  own  lack 
of  skill,  and 
not  that  of 
another. 

The  conti- 
nental barber 
has  much  to 
learn  in   the 

matter  of  shaving.  The  English  barbers  say  they  would  like 
to  adopt  the  American  system,  but  their  English  customers 
will  not.  I  understand  it.  Their  fathers  were  scarified,  and 
why  should  they  not  be  ?  It  would  be  un-English  to  change. 
And  so  they  go  on  with  the  same  straight-backed  chairs,  the 
same  clumsy  contrivances,  and  they  will  so  go  on,  till  the  end 
of  time.  The  last  Englishman  Avill  be  so  shaved,  when  he 
might  have  had  comfort  and  luxury  all  his  life. 


THE  CONSCIENTIOUS  BARBER. 


CHAPTER  XXXYII. 


LAKE    THUN    AND   BEYOND. 


From  Berne  to  Thun  the  scenery  is  less  bold  and  rugged, 
although  the  horizon  is  always  filled  with  great  peaks  that  are 
to  be  seen  from  every  quarter. 

At  Thun  we  take  steamer  across  Lake  Thun,  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  the  Swiss  lakes.  It  is  not  so  large  as  Lake 
Geneva,  and  is  not  fringed  with  such  enormous  mountain 
chains,  but  it  abounds  with  unexpected  views  of  rare  beauty, 
resembling  very  much  our  own  picturesque  Lake  George. 

As  the  steamer  skirts  the  north  bank  of  the  lake,  which  is  a 
succession  of  vineyards,  we  suddenty  come  upon  a  magnificent 
view  of  the  Jungfrau,  almost  as  impressive  as  Mt.  Blanc. 
From  that  time  on  the  great  range  gradually  unfolds  itself  like 
the  views  of  a  panorama,  until  at  length  we  have  all  the  highest 
peaks  in  full  sight. 

At  Darlingen  we  leave  the  steamer,  and,  after  a  short  wait, 
see  a  peculiar  looking  train  dash  through  the  tunnel,  at  the 
head  of  the  lake,  and  then  come  puffing  noisily  into  the  station. 
This  is  the  celebrated  Bodeli  railway,  the  second  shortest  in  the 
world.  It  runs  from  Darlingen  to  Interlaken,  a  distance  of  a 
mile  and  a  half.  Its  cars  are  especially  adapted  to  sight  seeing, 
being  constructed  in  two  stories,  so  that  every  one  can  have  an 
outside  seat,  to  fully  enjoy  the  picturesque  scenery  between  the 
two  stations. 

The  one  main  street  of  Interlaken  is  chiefly  devoted  to 
hotels,  especially  the  upper  portion  of  it,  for  from  this  location 
one  has  the  best  view  of  the  celebrated  Jungfrau,  that  stands 
head  and  shoulders  above  the  high  Silberhorn  on  the  right  and 

(556) 


INTERLAKEN. 


557 


the  Schneehorn  on  the  left.  Further  down,  the  street  is  occu- 
pied with  tempting  stores  filled  with  Swiss  wood  carvings. 
From  this  time  on  nothing  can  be  seen  but  wood  carving,  save 
perhaps  an  occasional  bit  of  chamois  horn. 

It  is  a  quaint  old  town,  full  of  odd  nooks  and  corners,  that 
would  afford  interesting  study  for  weeks  at  a  time.  While 
there  are  no  particular  attractions,  Interlaken  is  a  favorite 
resort  of  tourists,  and  is  always  full  of  strangers,  who  enjoy 
the  mild,  equable  climate  and  find  pleasure  in  resting. 


THE  JTJNGFRAU,  FROM  INTERLAKEN. 

The  broad  walnut-lined  Hoheweg,  a  beautiful  avenue,  leads 
down  across  an  old-fashioned,  massive  stone  bridge  to  a  street 
set  aside  for  markets.  Here,  during  the  forenoon,  is  a  minia- 
ture Petticoat  Lane,  only  the  people  are  all  clean,  picturesquely 
dressed  and  decent.  There  are  no  rum  shops,  reeking  with  the 
vile  odors  of  stale  liquors  and  still  staler  tobacco  smoke ;  there 
are  no  intoxicated  men  and  women.  Everything  is  quiet, 
orderly  and  well  conducted.  But  the  variety  of  articles  offered 
for  sale  is  something  astonishing.  Here  an  enterprising  woman, 
as  stiff  and  formal  as  the  high  white  cap  she  wears,  has  a  small 
stock  of  dry  goods  spread  out  on  the  pavement  for  the  inspec- 


558  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

tion  of  the  picturesquely  dressed  peasants,  who  trade  their  milk 
and  farm  products  for  clothing  material.  A  little  further  on 
you  will  find  a  complete  assortment  of  boots  and  shoes,  of  all 
kinds  and  conditions.  There  a  man  has  a  hat  store  and  a  junk 
shop  combined.  At  any  place,  almost,  you  can  buy  specimens 
of  Swiss  skill  in  carving.  These  stores  or  exchanges  are  all 
on  the  street,  along  which  it  is  difficult  to  thread  one's  way,  so 
crowded  -is  it  with  buyers  and  sellers. 

These  narrow,  crooked  streets  are  lined  with  houses  built 
the  Lord  only  knows  how  long  ago.  The  long  beams  that 
cross  each  other  in  the  front  of  the  houses  are  carved  and  cut 
in  every  conceivable  shape.  Sometimes  the  artist  was  a  little 
ambitious  and  attempted  very  elaborate  work,  not  always 
successfully,  however,  for  the  heads  and  figures  that  adorn  the 
fronts  of  some  of  them  are  grotesque  to  a  degree. 

Interlaken  is  the  starting  point  for  most  of  the  moun- 
taineering parties  that  visit  the  Bernese  Oberland,  the  chief 
point  of  interest  centering  about  the  Jungfrau,  which  is  forty- 
one  hundred  and  sixty -seven  feet  high.  The  ascent  of  this 
mountain,  which,  though  very  fatiguing,  is  not  dangerous,  was 
first  made  in  1811,  and  between  that  time  and  1856  it  was 
only  accomplished  five  times.  Since  the  latter  date,  however, 
it  has  been  made  very  frequently.  We  did  not  attempt  to 
explore  the  icy  regions,  so  far  above  the  clouds,  being  perfectly 
content  with  our  experience  at  Mont  Blanc. 

Interlaken  is  the  great  distributing  point  for  the  vast  quan- 
tities of  carved  goods  made  in  this  vicinity.  There  are  a 
number  of  large  factories  in  the  city,  but  the  greater  part 
of  the  work  is  done  in  the  little  towns  near  there.  The 
displays  made  in  the  large  stores  are  wonderful,  some  of  the 
pieces  being  the  work  of  genius.  While  every  possible  subject 
is  treated,  the  carvers  have  a  passion  for  bears,  the  heraldic 
emblem  of  some  of  the  Cantons.  You  will  see  bears  of  every 
conceivable  size,  and  in  every  attitude.  Whole  parties  of  them, 
playing  billiards  or  cards,  or  dancing  a  quadrille;  bears 
standing,  sitting,  lying  down ;  bears  everywhere  and  doing 
everything.  Some  of  this  work  is  wonderfully  well  done^ 
the  lines  and  spaces  being  so  delicately  cut  that  it  seems  as 
though  a  breath  would  break  them. 


WOOD    CAKVING. 


559 


On  the  way  from  Interlaken  to  Brienz  we  passed  through 
little  villages,  whose  one  street  is  filled  with  wood  carving 
establishments,  and  almost  every  house  between  the  two  places 


ll;M!l(Miiiiill;,iMlllll:ii:.li:^l'"i:''lliliii 


has  a  small  factory  for  the  manufacture  of  these  pretty  trifles. 

At  Brienz  we  went  through  a  very  large  factory  and  saw 

the  patient  Swiss  chipping  away  tirelessly  at  the  huge  piece  of 


560 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


wood  that  was  soon  to  be  a  medallion  portrait.  It  is  an  art 
that  requires  great  skill  and  delicacy  of  touch  to  produce  fine 
work.  In  this  factory  there  were  some  four  hundred  or  five 
hundred  men  employed,  and  the  work  they  turned  out  was 
marvelously  beautiful.     In  fact  one  cannot  sufficiently  admire 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  CARVER. 


the  wood  carving  of  the  region.  The  patient  workers  do 
everything  artistic  in  the  material,  and  it  is  artistic.  Land- 
scapes, portraits,  hunting  scenes,  animals,  angels,  scriptural 
subjects,  everything  that  is  done  on  canvas  or  in  marble,  is 
done  in  wood,  and  many  of  the  pieces  are  purchased  by  crownied 
heads,  and  at  a  very  high  price. 

The  artists  in  wood  are,  however,  very  poorly  paid,  even 
for  Switzerland.     In  America  their  wages  would  be  considered 


THE    KOMANCE    OF    THE    WOOD    CAKVER.  561 

as  close  to  starvation  as  possible,  without  touching  it.  Think 
of  a  man  capable  of  doing  the  most  artistic  work  laboring  at 
four  francs  a  day,  or  eighty  cents!  This  is  as  high  as  any, 
except  an  occasional  phenomenal  genius,  gets,  and  they  appear 
to  be  content  with  it.  For  this  miserable  sum  they  work  so 
long  as  they  can  see,  commencing  at  daylight  and  ending  at 
dark. 

True,  living  is  very  cheap,  and  such  as  it  is  it  ought  to  be. 
The  wretched  beer  of  the  region  is  only  about  a  cent  a  glass, 
and  the  black  bread  of  the  country  costs  next  to  nothing,  and 
so  the  artist  works  all  day  and  at  night  sits  himself  in  his  little 
cafe,  and  with  his  cheap  wine  and  cheaper  beer,  plays  cards 
contentedly,  and  enjoys  himself  thoroughly. 

After  all  he  is  as  well  as  though  he  got  ten  dollars  a  day. 
He  couldn't  drink  any  more  wine  than  he  does,  and  neither 
would  additional  pay  enlarge  his  capacity  for  black  bread,  and 
what  does  he  want  of  anything  more  ?  It  isn't  what  you  want 
—  it's  what  you  don't  want  that  makes  you  rich.  Even  in 
httle  wood  carving  Brienz,  romance  gets  in. 

We  saw  on  the  street,  there  is  only  one  in  Brienz,  a  young 
man  whose  demoralized  clothing,  fiery  eyes  and  unsteady  steps, 
all  bore  evidence  to  the  terrible  fact  of  dissipation.  He  was 
the  first  drunken  man  of  the  genus  loafer  we  had  struck  in 
Switzerland.  The  Young  Man  who  Knows  Everything  looked 
at  him  and  promptly  remarked : — 

"  That  young  man  has  wisdom.  He  is  cultivating  a  vice. 
When  he  wants  to  economize  he  has  a  basis  for  economy. 
Suppose  he  had  always  lived  a  perfectly  correct  fife,  and  some 
emergency  should  come  to  him  that  demanded  economy,  what 
would  he  hav'e  to  economize  on?  Every  man  should  so  five 
that  he  can,  if  he  must,  better  himself.  I  admire  that  young 
man,  for  he  leaves  himself  room  for  development." 

The  landlord  gave  us  his  history.  The  young  man  was 
ruined  by  prosperity.  He  was  an  industrious  and  very  skillful 
carver,  and  had  attained  sixty  cents  a  day  with  an  immediate 
prospect  of  a  raise  of  twenty  cents,  which  is  the  summit  of  a 
legitimate  Brienz  ambition. 

He  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  the  daughter  of  a  poor 
Swiss  farmer,  who  had  three  cows  and  a  goat  or  two,  and  there 
36 


5.62  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

was  no  reason  under  heaven  why  he  should  not  have  been 
happy.  He  had  health,  strength,  skill ;  Josepha  was  beautiful, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  his  marrying  her,  and  set- 
tling down  quietly  to  watch  the  development  of  her  goitre,  and 
passing  a  long  and  happy  hfe. 

But  evil  was  hanging  over  them.  An  uncle  of  Eudolph's, 
who  was  a  cook  in  Paris,  died  without  issue,  and  left  his  entire 
estate,  sixty-eight  dollars  and  fifty  cents,  to  his  nephew,  our 
Hudolph,  in  Brienz. 

Immediately  Eudolph  grew  cold  towards  Josepha.     He  did 

not  meet  her  on 
the  little  bridge 
after  his  work; 
he  did  not  take 
her  to  fairs  where 
the  two  drank 
beer  lovingly  out 
of  the  same  mug ; 
i^^  he  did  not  always 
i^^^  have  some  little 
present  for  her; 
in  short,  he 
avoided  her.  To 
use  the  strong 
though  not   ele- 

FEMALE  COSTUMES  IN  APPENZELL.  ffaut     En2:lish    of 

the  wild  and  untamed  West,  he  "  shook "  her. 

Josepha  noticed  this  change,  and  wej)t  in  her  enforced  soli- 
tude. "With  true  womanly  instinct  she  felt  what  was  coming. 
There  was  now  an  inseparable  bar  between  them.  Could  she, 
a  plain  country  girl,  with  no  dowry  to  speak  of,  hope  to  wed  a 
man  with  a  fortune  of  sixty-eight  dollars  and  fifty  cents? 

And  so  she  wept  her  lost  love,  her  first  love,  which  never 
comes  again.  One  may  love  twice,  but  the  second  love  has  not 
the  twang,  the  flavor,  as  it  were,  of  the  first.  It  is  the  differ- 
ence of  a  meal  on  an  empty  stomach  and  the  tail  end  of  a  feast. 

They  met  and  Josepha  made  one  appeal  to  him.  He 
answered  her  briefly,  brutally : 

''I  did  love  you,  Josepha,"  he  said,  "and  could  love  you 


663 

again,  were  it  possible.  But  you  must  remember,  my  girl,  that 
circumstances  have  changed ;  I  am  a  man  of  fortune — you  are 
the  daughter  of  a  poor  farmer  with  but  three  cows,  and  those 
to  be  divided  among  ten  children.  And  the  price  of  cheese  is 
sadly  going  down,  and  must  still  go  down,  owing  to  the  com- 
petition of  the  factory  system  in  America,  where  they  can 
imitate  even  our  most  penetrating  Limburger,  and  sell  it 
cheaper  here  than  we  can  produce  it.  It  is  no  use  to  talk  of 
buying  our  OAvn  product,  all  people  buy  where  they  can  buy 
the  cheapest.     That  is  political  economy. 

'^  Had  you  an  uncle,  a  cook  in  Paris,  and  liable  to  die,  with 
sixty-eight  dollars  and  fifty  cents,  the  aspect  of  things  would 
be  changed.  But  you  have  no  such  uncle,  and  really,  Josepha, 
you  cannot  expect  me,  in  my  altered  condition,  to  so  throw 
myself  away.  No  indeed.  But  I  wish  you  well.  Forget  me, 
if  you  can,  and  marry  some  one  in  your  own  sphere,  and  be 
happy.  You  would  not  want  to  wed  me,  and  see  me  miser- 
able! Life  would  then  be  a  burden  to  both.  Be  ye  not 
unequally  yoked." 

Josepha,  weeping,  turned  away,  for  despite  her  love,  she 
realized  the  truth  of  w^hat  he  said.  And  Kudolph,  whistHng 
an  air,  gaily  went  into  the  cafe,  and  sought  to  drown  his  feel- 
ings in  wine. 

lie  knew  he  had  done  a  very  mean  thing,  but  he  felt  it  to  be 
impossible  for  a  youth  of  his  prospects  to  marry  a  penniless  girL 

Keveling  in  his  wealth  he  pursued  his  mad  career  and  came 
to  grief,  as  such  men  always  do.  He  quit  work,  he  dressed 
extravagantly,  and  finally  he  made  an  unlucky  mvestment  in 
stocks,  which  swept  o&  every  sou  he  had.  His  sixty- eight 
dollars  and  fifty  cents  were  irrevocably  gone,  and  Kudolph  the 
Gay  found  himself  without  money,  with  an  expensive  appetite 
for  v/ine  and  an  extreme  disposition  to  do  no  work  of  any 
kind. 

One  morning  he  heard  a  wild  rumor  that  a  brother  of 
Josepha  in  America  had  made  a  strike  in  oil  and  had  sent 
Josepha  five  hundred  dollars.  Then  his  feelings  toward  that 
young  lady  changed.  He  went  to  her  and  remarked  that  he 
forgave  her  for  her  treatment  of  him ;  that  the  cloud  that  had 
come  between  them  and  obscured  their  happiness  had  passed 


564  '  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

away,  and  that  there  was  no  reason  now  why  they  should  not 
reahze  the  dreams  of  their  youth  and  wed. 

It  was  now  Josepha's  turn.  She  remarked  that  sentiment 
was  all  well  enough,  but  that  there  was  something  in  viewing 
matters  from  a  mere  worldly  standpoint.  Love  was  sweet, 
but  fortunately  the  stock  of  the  article  in  the  world  was 
not  limited.  It  was  not  to  be  expected  in  her  altered  con- 
dition that  she  should  unite  her  fortunes  with  those  of  a  penni- 
less man.  She  quite  agreed  with  what  he  (Kudolph)  had  said 
to  her  on  a  former  occasion,  "  Be  ye  not  unequally  yoked."  She 
(Josepha)  had  now  five  hundred  dollars.  He  (Hudolph)  had  not  a 
sou.  Had  he  (Rudolph)  Rve  hundred  dollars,  and  had  he  the 
good  habits  of  his  youth  when  he  was  an  humble  worker  in  wood, 
she  would  wed  him  gladly,  but  as  he  (Rudolph)  was,  in  the 
language  of  the  world,  short  of  that  amount,  and  as  she 
(Josepha)  had  any  quantity  of  coin,  she  rather  thought  she 
wouldn't.  She  should  always  regard  him  in  the  light  of  a 
friend,  and  should  weep  with  great  regularity  when  she 
thought  of  their  severed  loves,  but  there  was  a  young  farmer 
up  the  mountain  who  had  twelve  cows,  and  with  her  capital 
could  double  the  stock,  and  she  believed  that  her  best  show 
was  with  him. 

And  so  Rudolph,  penniless,  loveless,  and  with  an  appetite 
which,  like  jealousy,  makes  the  meat  it  feeds  on,  is  a  mere 
cumberer  on  the  earth  about  Brienz,  the  wreck  we  saw. 

And  Josepha,  she  married  the  young  grazier,  and  has  two 
children  and  one  of  the  largest  goitres  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  the  two  have  prospered  to  the  point  of  seriously  contem- 
plating the  starting  of  a  small  inn,  near  a  convenient  waterfall, 
that  they  may  fleece  strangers,  which  is  a  more  lucrative  busi- 
ness in  Switzerland  than  cheese-making  or  wood-carving. 

In  the  evening  we  were  rowed  across  the  Lake  of  Brienz  to 
the  Giessbach,  the  regular  sight  of  the  locality.  The  lake  is 
twenty  feet  higher  than  Lake  Thun,  from  which  it  is  separated 
by  a  narrow  strip  of  low  land  only  two  miles  wide.  It  is 
thought  that  at  one  time  the  two  lakes  were  joined.  Lake 
Brienz  is  from  five  hundred  to  nine  hundred  feet  deep,  its 
water  being  of  a  very  dark  blue. 

The  Giessbach  consists  of  seven  falls,  the  highest  being  one 


THE    GIESSBACH. 


565 


thousand  one  hundred  and  forty-seven  feet  above  the  lake. 
The  water  comes  from  a  lake  in  the  summit  of  the  mountain, 
and  tumbles  from  rock  to  rock 
till  it  finds  its  level  in  the  lake 
below.  All  the  seven  are  vis- 
ible at  once,  and  the  sight  is 
one  of  the  most  delightful  in 
all  Switzerland.  Opposite  the 
falls,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
enormous  chasm,  is  a  magni- 
ficent hotel,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  where  you  are  charged 
very  reasonably  —  not  more 
than  twice  what  the  same 
accommodations  would  cost 
you  in  a  first-class  hotel  any- 
where else.  For  this  reason- 
ableness you  tr}^  to  feel  very 
thankful.  One  has  to  see  the 
Giessbach,  anyhow;  and,  as 
there  is  but  one  place  to  stop,  ^ 
the  proprietor's  facihties  fori 
swindling  are  unlimited.  A 
mere  double  charge  may  be 
classed  as  reasonable,  there ; 
especially  as  the  sight  is  worth 
almost  any  expenditure. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  we 
reached  the  Geissbach  shore, 
so  that  we  had  but  an  imper- 
fect view  of  the  lovely  falls, 
as  we   climbed   up  the   steep 
path   leading   to  the   terrace, 
three  hundred  and  nine  feet       otik  party  at  the  giessbach. 
above  the  lake.      But  even  in  the  half  twilight  they  were 
wondrously  beautiful,  as  they  dashed  from  rock  to  rock,  hun- 
dreds of  feet  apart. 

As  it  grew  darker,  the  green  foliage  on  each  side  threw  out 
the  silvery  cascades,  dancing  from  one  to  the  other,  in  bold 
rehef.     Gradually  darkness  completely  enveloped  them,  and 


566  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

we  could  see  nothing  but  the  dark,  gloomy  mass  of  mountains 
down  whose  side  for  a  thousand  feet  the  water  fell,  from  one 
pool  to  another. 

The  terrace  on  which  the  hotel  stands  was  brilliantly 
lighted,  and  was  filled  with  tourists  who  were  spending  some 
little  time  here,  visiting  the  many  beautiful  spots  that  make 
the  Giessbach  one  of  the  favorite  resorts  in  Switzerland. 

Suddenly,  about  nine  o'clock,  a  rocket  flew  skyward,  from 
a  point  on  the  mountain  opposite  us.  Then  one  went  up  from 
the  terrace,  and  while  we  were  admiring  its  flight  high  in  air, 
the  lights  about  the  hotel  and  on  the  terrace  were  extinguished 
and  we  were  left  in  utter  darkness.  A  long  drawn  "  Oh-h-h  " 
involuntarily  burst  forth  as  the  lowest  cascade  suddenly  stood 
before  us,  a  brilliant,  beautiful  sheet  of  water,  of  a  delicate 
light  blue  tint.  Then  simultaneously  the  other  cascades  above 
shone  forth  in  all  their  splendor.  The  scene  was  wonderful. 
It  was  fairy  land. 

Bengal  lights  of  different  colors  were  arranged  back  of  the 
sheets  of  water,  so  that  each  cascade  was  brilliantly  lighted, 
producing  an  effect  exquisitely  and  indescribably  beautiful. 

Gradually  the  lights  under  the  water  went  out,  the  gas  at 
hotel  was  relighted,  and  we  were  rowed  back  to  Brienz  with 
a  picture  of  wondrous  beauty  printed  indelibly  on  our  minds. 

Tibbitts,  who  has  rejoined  the  party  after  his  attempt  at 
reformation  at  the  St.  Gervais  baths,  (by  the  way  his  personal 
appearance  is  not  a  good  advertisement  for  the  waters,)  got  an 
idea  at  Giessbach,  which  he  developed  thus : 

"  I  have  at  last  got  my  fortune  made.  What  is  wanted  in 
Switzerland  is  more  waterfalls,  with  legends,  more  mineral 
springs,  and  more  ruins,  secular  and  sacred.  As  soon  as  I  get 
back  to  New  York  I  am  going  to  organize  a  company  for  a 
Waterfall,  Euin  and  Spring  Company." 

"But  all  the  eligible  waterfalls  are  taken,'- 

"Yery  true,  and  to  get  one  we  should  have  to  pay  too 
large  a  price.  This  is  the  very  essence  of  my  idea — I  am 
going  to  create  a  waterfall.  What  is  a  waterfall,  anyway  ? 
Nothing  more  than  water  pouring  over  a  rock  or  other  mate- 
rial. All  that  is  necessary  to  a  waterfall  is  an  elevation  and 
water.  Turn  on  the  water,  and  it  can't  help  falling,  and  there 
you  are. 


A    MODEL    WATERFALL. 


567 


"  How  shall  we  get  water  ?  Easily  enough.  A  side  of  a 
precipice,  with  a  notch  in  it  big  enough  for  a  hotel,  can  be 
bought  anywhere  along  the  Lake  of  Brienz  for  almost  nothing. 
What  is  more  easy  than  to  construct  a  reservoir  on  the  top, 
put^a  ninety-horse  power  engine  in  at  the  lake,  and  pump  the 
water  to  the  reservoir  on  the  suftimit,  and  when  visitors  are 
there  turn  it 
on,  and  give 
them  the  best 
waterfall  in  all 
Switzerland. 

"Keep  the 
water  on  till 
after  they  all 
go  to  bed,  and 
for  an  hour  or 
so  after,  so  the 
roar '11  soothe 
them  to  sleep; 
and  if  any  rich 
Americans 
choose  to  stay 
up  all  night, 
and  "buy  wine, 
keep  it  on  all 
night.     We  must  have  nothing  mean  about  our  waterfall. 

"  There  are  a  great  many  advantages  in  this  over  the  nat- 
ural article.  The  water  can  be  turned  off  while  the  lights  are 
being  placed  behind  the  sheet  for  illuminations,  and  the  flow 
can  be  regulated  so  as  to  suit  every  taste.  If  the  party  is 
made  up  of  young  ladies  who  delight  in  the  soft  and  beautiful, 
we  can  make  a  Minnehaha  of  it ;  if  it  is  strong  men  and  old 
maids  who  hunger  for  the  grand,  why,  whack  on  more  steam, 
and  we  can  have  a  Niagara. 

"  About  a  mile  or  so  away  I  am  going  to  have  a  castle  in 
ruins — ruins  aint  expensive  where  there  is  so  much  rock  — 
and  I  can  have  any  newspaper  man  write  me  a  proper  legend 
of  it  for  ten  dollars.  This  for  the  history  crank.  For  the 
more  devout  we  want  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  church,  which 
was  destroyed  by  whoevei*  you  choose.      This  will  fetch  all 


PEASANTS  OF  EASTERN   SWITZERLAND. 


668 


NA8BY    IN    EXILE. 


those  who  are  on  their  way  to  the  Holy  Land.  They  don't 
spend  as  much  money  for  wine  as  the  other  classes,  but  we 
can  make  it  up  in  charges  for  board  and  guides.  The  ruins 
must  be  so  built  as  to  make  a  guide  necessary,  and  so  extensive 
that  two  days  will  be  necessary  to  get  the  proper  views  of 
them,  and  to  study  their  history  understandingly. 

"But   this   speculation 
./ >^  ':>>:-. ,  >  ^:^i :  -:^-T.  will  not  be  complete  with- 

out mineral  springs  in  the 
valley  below.  This  is  the 
easiest  thing  of  the  lot. 
You  will  build  a  reservoir 
and  chuck  into  it  a  few 
^ISS  ^^^^^^s  of  salt,  and  a  few 
^  ^'^~  bushels  of  rusty  iron  filings 
with  sulphuric  acid,  a  ton 
or  so  of  sulphur  (we  must 
be  liberal  with  sulphur  for 
it  is  cheap),  and  any  other 
articles  that  smell  —  asa- 
foetida  isn't  bad  —  get  it 
so  thundering  strong  that 
it  would  drive  a  yellow  dog  out  of  a  tanyard,  and  have  it  cure 
anything,  from  original  sin  to  corns.  We  want  a  gorgeous 
cure,  and  a  corps  of  distinguished  physicians,  and  an  analysis 
of  the  water,  and  all  that,  and  we  can  just  rope  in  the  money. 
We  commence  them  at  the  falls,  we  deplete  them  at  the  ruined 
castle,  and  dig  into  them  at  the  ruined  church,  and  finally 
finish  them  at  the  medicinal  springs.  We  want  a  bank  at  the 
latter  place,  and,  if  the  law  permits  it,  a  faro  bank.  Anyhow, 
we  can  get  a  Swiss  hotel  man,  and  if  every  blessed  tourist 
doesn't  have  to  draw  more  money  before  he  gets  out,  then  the 
race  has  lost  its  cunning. 

"I  am  going  to  be  the  president  of  this  company,  with  a 
brother-in-law  I  have  in  Wisconsin  for  treasurer.  There's 
money  lying  around  loose,  and  this  scheme  will  corral  all  of  it 
I  shall  ever  want." 

Tibbitts  talked  of  his  joint-stock  Waterfall,  Euin  and  Med- 
icinal Spring  Company  all  the  way  into  Lucerne. 


NEAR  BRIENZ. 


CHAPTEK  XXXVIIL 


LUCERNE    AND    THE    EIGI. 


The  road  from  Brienz  ^o  Lucerne,  over  the  Briinig  Pass, 
follows  the  valley  of  Meiringen  for  a  long  distance,  and  give^ 
some  very  pretty  views  of  Lake  Brienz,  the  River  Aare,  and  ^ 
number  of  cascades  in  the  mountains  across  the  valley.  As  the 
ascent  of  the  pass  begins  the  road  is  frequently  overshadowed 
by  hanging  rocks,  which  seem  about  to  topple  over  every 
minute. 

As  we  wind  around  the  mountains  occasional  glimpses  are 
obtained  of  the  valley  far  below,  and  then,  after  having  gone 
over  the  summit  of  the  pass,  we  have  a  long  almost  level  stretch 
along  the  side  of  the  mountain,  from  which  we  have  a  magnifi- 
cent view  of  the  valley  of  Sarnea,  with  its  pretty  little  lakes 
and  rivers,  its  long,  straight,  white  roads,  and  its  queer  little 
town^. 

Two  hours  later  we  come  in  sight  of  Pilatus  rearing  its  lofty 
head  high  above  Lake  Lucerne,  as  though  it  were  the  guardian 
of  that  beautiful  body  of  water.  Then  a  long  drive  on  the 
banks  of  the  lake,  where  the  road  is  cut  out  of  the  solid  rocks, 
and  in  a  short  time  we  rattle  over  the  rough  stones  of  a  pave- 
ment, across  the  Reuss  River  and  are  in  Lucerne. 

This  city,  which  is  to  Switzerland  what  Saratoga  is  to 
America,  is  prettily  built  at  the  head  of  Lake  Lucerne,  or,  as 
the  Swiss  call  it,  the  Yierwaldstatter  See,  which  resembles 
somewhat  in  shape  a  Roman  cross,  Lucerne  being  at  the  head. 
It  is  situated  in  an  ampitheater,  if  the  term  might  be  so  applied, 
facing  the  snow  capped  Alps  of  Uri  and  Engelberg,  with  Rigi 
on  one  side  and  Pilatus  on  the  other.  Around  it  are  massive 
walls  and  watch  towers,  built  in  1385,  and  still  in  a  good  state 
of  preservation. 

(569) 


570 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


The  hotels  are  nearly  all  located  on  the  Schweizerhof 
Quays,  which  occupies  the  site  of  an  arm  of  the  lake  that  was 
filled  up  some  fourteen  years  ago.  From  any  one  of  these 
mammoth  hotels  magnificent  views  may  be  obtained  on  any 
€lear  day.  Directly  in  front  is  the  lake ;  to  the  right  the  Rigi 
group,  with  its  hotel-crowned  summit ;  in  the  center  the  Eeuss- 
stock  chain,  and  to  the  extreme  right  Pilatus.  All  of  these 
mountains  are  full  of  points  of  interest,  and  are  annually  visited 
by  thousands  of  tourists,  who  make  up  their  parties  at  Lucerne- 
The  sail  across  the  lake  to  any  part  of  the  town  on  its  borders, 

makes  a  dehght 
''J^mWmmi^SmMMmB'^lWum.       M  excursion 

that  is  always 
new  and  inter- 
esting. 

The  show 
sight  here  is  the 
celebrated  Lion 
of  Lucerne, 
which  photo- 
graphs and  pic- 
tures have  made 
famous  the 
world  over.  It 
is  an  immense 
figure,  cut  in  the 
LION  OF  LUCERNE.  sidc  of  a  great 

rock,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  quay,  in  memory  of 
the  twenty-six  officers  and  seven  hundred  soldiers  who  were 
massacred  in  the  Tuileries,  Paris,  on  the  tenth  of  August,  1792, 
when  the  Commune  obtained  control  of  the  government,  and 
compelled  Kmg  Louis  to  fly  for  his  life.  An  immense  lion, 
twenty  eight  feet  in  length,  lies  dying  in  a  grotto,  transfixed 
with  a  broken  lance.  Under  one  paw,  as  though  he  w^ould 
shelter  it  even  in  death,  is  the  Bourbon  lily.  On  either  side  of 
the  lion  are  the  names  of  the  officers,  and  an  inscription.  The 
idea  is  a  simple  one,  but  the  work  was  done  by  a  master  hand, 
(the  Danish  sculptor  Thorwalsden  being  the  artist)  and  is  very 
impressive. 


THE    SWISS    SOLDIERS    ABROAD.  571 

As  a  rule,  people  thrill  when  they  look  upon  this  famous 
Lion  of  Lucerne,  but  I  declined  to  do  anything  of  the  kind. 
The  death  of  these  Swiss,  in  Paris,  was  a  purely  commercial 
matter.  They  were  the  hirelings  of  an  infamous  despot,  who 
was  crushing  the  life  out  of  the  French  people  by  their  aid. 
I  have  no  sympathy  for  king,  queen  or  noble,  and  when  one 
dies  I  have  a  hosanna  to  sing  immediately.  And  I  cannot 
imagine  anything  more  disgraceful  than  a  man,  Swiss,  or  of 
any  other  nationality,  who  would  sell  himself  to  a  despot. 
These  fellows,  who  fell  in  defense  of  Louis,  had  but  one  mer.t : 
th6y  sold  their  blood,  bones  and  sinews,  and  they  carried  out 
their  contract.  They  were  simply  honest  butchers,  who  con- 
tracted to  do  certain  work  for  a  lecherous  French  king,  and 
did  it.  But  the  monument  at  Lucerne  to  these  hirelings  is  an 
insult  to  humanity,  and  all  the  good  I  got  out  of  it,  was  the 
contemplation  of  a  wondrously  carved  lion,  and  the  drawback 
to  that  satisfaction  was  the  frightful  fact  that  the  men,  to 
whose  memory  it  stands,  never  should  have  had  any  monument 
erected  at  all.     This  inscription  is  the  only  one  they  deserved : 

**  Sacred  to  the  memory  of  some  hundreds  of  hired  soldiery,  who  fought 
for  pay  only,  had  too  much  animal  courage  to  run,  and  who  died  to  carry 
out  a  contract." 

As  a  work  of  art,  Thorwalsden's  lion  is  worth  seeing — as  a 
piece  of  sentiment,  excuse  me.  I  have  seen  too  many  soldiers 
in  Europe  who  sell  their  sinews  for  pay,  and  I  have  seen  too 
many  starving  people  who  are  kept  poor  to  support  them.  I 
do  not  like  any  soldiers  but  volunteers,  and  whenever  the  peo- 
ple get  the  upper  hand  of  the  other  kind,  I  want  to  contribute 
for  a  monument  to  the  people,  not  to  their  oppressors. 

Aside  from  the  bridges,  whose  only  merit  is  their  age,  and 
one  or  two  rather  scantily  furnished  churches,  there  is  but  little 
of  interest  in  Lucerne. 

The  Glacier  Mills  are  an  attraction,  and  are  well 
worth  seeing.  There  is  no  humbug  about  nature.  You  climb 
a  hill  after  looking  at  the  lion,  and  you  come  to  a  garden  in 
which  are  a  series  of  the  great  pits  known  as  Glacier  Mills. 

These  are  simply  great  holes  in  solid  rock  thirty  or  forty 
feet  deep,  and  about  the  same  in  diameter.  In  the  ages  gone 
by  when  this  country  was  covered  with  glaciers,  the  action  of 
water  wore  holes  in  the  rock,  great  stones  lost  themselves  in 


572  NASBY   IN    EXILE. 

these  cavities,  the  water  came  in  and  the  stones,  weighing  many 
to  as,  revolved  by  the  action  of  the  water,  wore  away  the  rock 
and  enlarged  the  pit  at  every  revolution. 

This  work  went  on  for  ages.  Tlie  water  forced  itself  into 
the  pit,  the  great  rock  revolved,  by  its  action  enlarging  the 
cavity  at  every  revolution,  until  finally  the  glacier  disappeared 
and  the  rocks  were  at  rest. 

And  here  they  are  to-day,  round  as  marbles,  lying  at  the 
bottom  of  the  pits  they  made,  so  many  evidences  of  the 
irresistible  forces  of  nature. 

.  In  this  enclosure  there  are,  perhaps,  twenty  of  them,  vary- 
ing in  depth  from  thirty  to  fifty  feet,  and  about  the  same  dis- 
tance across. 

Tibbitts  believed  they  were  artificial,  and  said  he  should  dig  a 
few  for  his  Hotel  and  Euin  Company,  but  he  is  entirely  mistaken. 
The  glacier  mills  are  genuine  and  the  same  forces  are  at  work 
to-day  under  every  ice-field,  and  doing  the  work  precisely  as 
this  was  done.  However,  there  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
manufacture  a  few  —  tourists  would  take  them  just  the  same, 
and  be  just  as  well  satisfied.  He  claims  that  with  nitro-glyce- 
rine  he  can  do  in  five  hours  the  work  that  requires  centu- 
ries to  accomplish  with  water  and  rock,  which  demonstrates 
the  supremacy  of  mind  over  matter. 

Mont  Pilatus,  just  out  of  Lucerne,  is  something  you  must 
see  whether  you  want  to  or  not.  It  isn't  a  very  remarkable 
mountain,  but  the  astute  hotel  keeper  and  the  more  rapacious 
hackman,  has  made  it  necessary  for  you  to  spend  more  money 
than  you  want  to,  by  seeing  Mont  Pilatus.  It  is  a  proper 
mountain  to  see,  nothing  extraordinary,  as  a  mountain,  but  you 
are  compelled  to  go  anyhow,  and  you  do.  And  this  is  why 
you  go. 

There  has  to  be  a  legend  for  every  point  of  sufficient  inter- 
est to  attract  a  traveler,  and  so  Pilatus  has  its  legend.  You 
are  told  gravely  that  after  Pontius  Pilate  washed  his  hands  of 
the  blood  of  our  Savior,  and  saw  him  go  to  his  death,  instead 
of  saving  him  as  he  might  have  done,  he  was  struck  with 
remorse,  returned  to  Rome,  and  pursued  by  a  feeling  which  he 
could  not  get  rid  of,  made  his  way  to  this  mountain  in  Switzer. 
land,  and  lived  in  a  cave  therein,  a  recluse,  expiating  by  a  life 


PON'IIUS    PILATE. 


573 


of  solitude  the  crime  he  had  been  guilty  ol'  in  shedding  inno- 
cent blood. 

And  they  show  you  gravely  and  without  a  blush,  a  pond 
in  the  top  of  the  mountain,  where,  after  he  became  an  old 
man,  he  ended  the  life  that  was  a  burden  to  him,  by 
drowning  himself  therein,  and  they  tell  you  of  the  earth- 
quakes and   things  of  unpleasant   nature  that   followed    his 


/.^      I 


"II    % 


THE  END  OF  PONTIUS  PHjATE. 

demise.  The  Arch  Enemy  of  mankind  was  on  hand  in  person 
to  seize  him,  and  when  he  had  struck  the  water  he  was  taken 
bodily  by  His  Satanic  Majesty  and  whisked  away  to  the  lower 
regions. 

Did  all  this  happen?  Possibly.  I  was  not  there,  and 
therefore  cannot  say  positively  that  it  did  not  I  wish  to  be 
truthful  and  reasonable.     i>ut  I  will  venture  my  opinion  that 


574  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Pilate  never  came  to  Switzerland  ;  that  after  his  term  expired 
as  Governor  of  Judea  he  stole  all  he  could  lay  his  hands  upon 
and  went  back  to  Rome,  and  went  over  to  the  new  Emperor 
or  Consul,  or  whatever  they  called  the  official  w^ho  had  the 
giving  out  of  patronage,  and  got  a  new  appointment  some- 
xvhere  else.     That  is  what  became  of  Pontius  Pilate. 

However,  l^Et.  Pilatus  is  well  worth  seeing,  and  the  legend 
is  a  very  effective  one,  and  the  guide  who  tells  it  to  jou  always 
gets  several  francs  in  addition  to  his  original  swindle. 

You  must  have  legends,  and  as  people  believe  them  it  is  the 
same  as  though  they  were  true 

An  imaginative  friend  of  mine  was  once  standing  upon  the 
railroad  platform  at  Forest,  Ohio,  in  the  w^ar  years,  probably 
the  most  lonesome  and  desolate  station  in  the  world.  There 
were  twenty  passengers  with  him  for  a  train  that  was  so  far 
behind  that  no  one  could  guess  as  to  w^hen  it  would  arrive. 

He  had  cut  a  little  switch  from  a  tree  near  the  platform, 
and  as  he  flourished  it  ostentatiously,  some  one  asked  him 
where  he  got  it. 

With  a  quickness  of  invention  —  a  fertility  of  lying  that 
was  simply  admirable  —  he  said  it  was  the  tip  of  the  flag- 
staff of  Fort  Donelson! 

Now  this  was  nothing  but  a  little  switch  cut  within  twenty 
feet  of  where  they  were  standing,  but  immediately  all  the 
passengers  came  up  and  took  it  in  their  hands  and  examined 
it  critically,  and  commented  on  it,  as  though  it  were  some- 
thing of  actual  importance.  It  was,  to  them.  The  battle  was 
discussed,  the  merits  of  Grant  as  a  soldier  were  discussed,  and 
the  whole  war  was  with  its  causes  and  consequences,  reviewed. 
And  all  this  because  a  prompt  liar,  in  an  impulsive  way, 
located  a  Forest  switch  as  the  tip  of  the  flag-staff  of  Donelson. 

We  believed  it,  and  handled  the  switch  reverently.  The 
tourist  to  Pilatus  swallows  the  legend  of  Pilate,  and  it  does 
him  just  as  much  good  as  though  it  were  true. 

The  moral  to  all  this  is,  the  wise  man  swallows  what  is  set 
before  him  and  asks  no  questions  for  his  stomach's  sake. 

Never  go  Into  the  kitchen  in  which  your  hash  is  made.  Be 
ignorant  and  happy. 

By  this  time  we  were  ready  for  another  mountaineering 


UP   THE   EIGI. 


575 


expedition,  especially  as  in  this  instance  the  ascent  could  be 
made  in  a  comfortable  railway  car.    To  reach  Yitznau,  where 


the  railway  station  is,  we  took  a  sail  of  about  an  hour  and  a. 
half,  through  beautiful  scenery.  As  we  steam  oat  from  Lucerne, 
the  city  is  seen  to  its  best  advantage,  its  long  walnut-shaded 


576 


NASBY   IN    EXILE. 


quay,  its  massive  hotels,  churches,  walls  and  towers,  standing 
up  from  the  water  and  thrown  into  relief  by  the  dark  green 
forests  on  the  mountains  behind  it. 


Soon-  after  Lucerne  fades  away  we  see  the  cross-like  forma- 
tion of  the  lake,  one  arm,  known  as  Lake  Kiissnach,  stretching 


PILATE    IN    THE    GUIDE    BOOK.  577 

Tvay  to  the  north,  while  on  the  other  side  is  Lake  Alpnach. 
Far  ahead  of  us  is  the  Bay  of  Buosch  and  Lake  of  Uri,  forming 
the  foot  of  the  cross.  At  tlie  head  of  Lake  Kussnach  can  be 
seen  the  town  of  that  name.  Here,  in  the  central  part  of  the 
cross,  the  view  is  particularly  impressive ;  the  Rig'i,  on  the  left, 
with  its  wooded  slopes  shining  in  the  sunlight,  contrasting 
strangely  with  the  mist  and  clouds  that  envelope  Pilatus,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  lake.  As  we  see  the  clouds  lowering 
around  the  high  peak  of  Mt.  Pilate,  the  legend  told  by  Antonio, 
the  guide  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's  ''Anne  of  Gierestein,"  comes 
vividly  to  mind.  I  have  given  my  readers  my  notion  of  the 
legend  of  Pilatus — now  they  have  it  exactly  as  the  guide  books 
give  it.  You  pay  your  money  and  you  take  your  choice. 
Here  it  is  in  guide  book  talk : 

*  The  wicked  Pontius  Pilate,  Proconsul  of  Judea,  here  found  the  termi- 
nation of  his  impious  life;  having,  after  spending  years  in  the  recesses  of 
the  mountain  which  bears  his  name,  at  length,  in  remorse  and  despair 
rather  than  in  penitence,  plunged  into  the  dismal  lake  that  occupies  the 
summit  "Whether  water  refused  to  do  the  executioner's  duty  upon  such 
a  wretch,  or  whether,  his  body  being  drowned,  his  vexed  spirit  continued 
to  haunt  the  place  where  he  committed  suicide,  no  one  pretended  to  say. 
But  a  form  was  often  seen  to  emerge  from  the  gloomy  waters,  and  go 
through  the  action  of  washing  his  hands,  and  when  he  did  so  dark  clouds 
of  mist  gathered,  first  round  the  bosom  of  the  Infernal  Lake  (such  it  had 
been  styled  of  old),  and  tiien  wrapping  the  whole  upper  part  of  the  moun- 
tain in  darkness,  presaged  a  tempest  or  hurricane,  which  was  sure  to 
follow  in  a  short  space.  The  evil  spirit  was  peculiarly  exasperated  at  the 
audacity  of  such  strangers  as  ascended  the  mountain  to  gaze  at  his  place  of 
punishment,  and,  in  consequence,  the  magistrates  of  Lucerne  had  prohib- 
ited any  one  from  approaching  Mt.  Pilate,  under  severe  penalties." 

It  is  perhaps  needless  to  say  that  the  prohibiti(5n  has  been 
long  removed,  and  that  every  season  a  great  many  tourists 
ascend  the  grand  old  peak,  to  see  the  Infernal  Lake  on  its  sum- 
mit.    All  do  it  who  can  afford  to  pay  for  it. 

And  speaking  of  these  miracles  and  appearances,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  they  don't  take  place  any  more.  Pilate 
hasn't  aj^peared  in  person  to  any  tourists  for  hundreds  of  years. 
His  appearance  is  something  that  used  to  happen,  but  doesn't 
any  more. 

Tibbitts  remarked  that  when  he  got  his  hotel  done,  he  would 
have  Pilate  appear,  actually  washing  his  hands,  no  matter  what 
it  cost  him.  He  intended  to  have  a  lot  of  fresh  miracles.  He 
37 


578 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


would  treat  his  patrons  decently,  and  not  palm  off  upon  them 
a  lot  of  old  legends.  Ho  could  get  a  man  to  do  the  Pilate 
business  for  thirty  dollars  a  month,  and  he  wouldn't  be  mean 
enough  to  stop  at  so  small  an  expense  as  that. 

Passing  Weggis,  a  pretty  village  nestling  at  tho  foot  of  the 
Eio-i,  Yitznau  is  reached,  and  there  we  disembark  for  our  ride 
up  the  mountain.  The  Kigi  has  long  been  a  favorite  resort 
for  tourists,  and  as  far  back  as  1868  an  attempt  ^\  as  made  to 
assist  them  in  reaching  the  summit  with  less  fatigue  and 
gi^eater  comfort  and  security.  In  that  year,  one  Piggenbach, 
of  Olten,  and  an  engineer  of  Aaron,  named  Olivier  Zschokke, 
after  having  experimented  for  years  on  the  subject,  published 

a  pamphlet,  in 
which  they 
declared  that 
it  was  possible 
to  construct  a 
railway  from 
Vitznau  to  the 
summit  of  the 
Rigi. 

The  treatise 
5- attracted  a 
great  deal  of 
attention,  and 
the  following 
year  the  two 
engineers     ap- 

THE  OLD   WAY   OF   ASCE>sT)IXG  THE   RIGI.  piled      for      aid 

from  the  Government  of  Lucerne  to  carry  out  the  scheme 
they  had  devised.  This  aid  was  granted,  and  in  two  years  the 
road  was  finished  to  Stoffel,  over  half  the  distance,  and  two 
years  later  to  the  very  summit  of  the  mountain. 

The  new  system  consists  of  two  rails  of  standard  gauge, 
such  as  are  used  on  ordinary  railways,  firmly  fixed  on  sleepers, 
which  are  solidly  secured  to  the  rock  by  every  device  known^ 
to  insure  their  solidity.  Then  a  third  rail,  supplied  with  cogs, 
is  placed  between  the  other  two,  and  on  this  the  cogged, 
driving  wheel  of  the  engine  of  a  new  construction  propels  the 


M^^^^oQ  p 


r 


J 


A   MOUNTAIN    RAILWAY. 


679 


engine  up  the  hill.  Engines  of  a  special  pattern  were  built, 
for  as  the  ascent  is  often  at  an  angle  of  twenty-five  degrees, 
ordinary  locomotives  would  not  do.     The  boiler  in  the  new 


NIGHT  ASCENT  OF  THE  RIGI  IN  THE  OLD  TIMES. 

engine  is  perpendicular  and  the  rear  is  slightly  elevated. 


The 


tread-wheels  are  connected  with  the  cog  wheel  in  the  center  of 


580  .  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

the  engine  in  such  a  manner  that  each  wheel  bears  its  propor- 
tion of  the  weight.  The  road  has  been  a  complete  success 
from  the  start,  not  a  single  accident  having  ever  occurred. 

The  sensation  after  the  car  leaves  lev^el  ground  at  the 
station  in  Yitznau  and  beofms  to  climb  steadily  up  the  moun- 
tain is  peculiar.  The  ground  seems  to  melt  away,  and  yet  is 
always  replaced.  As  we  mount*  higher  and  higher,  the  view 
becomes  more  extensive.  I^ow  we  can  see  the  little  town  we 
have  just  left  on  the  pretty  little  bay,  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tains. Beyond  it  the  lake  stretches  out  to  the  mountains  that 
seem  to  come  to  its  very  edge.  Then  the  road  passes  through 
a  tunnel,  a  marvel  of  engineering  skill,  for  going  through  there 
the  ascent  is  at  a  rise  of  twenty-five  degrees. 

Emerging  from  this  tunnel,  the  train  speeds  across  a  bridge, 
over  a  yawning  chasm,  Avhose  sides  are  lined  with  stunted  trees 
and  great  bowlders,  that  are  washed  by  a  large  stream  which 
takes  its  rise  higher  up  the  mountain. 

From  this  point  the  view  is  grand.  Pilate,  towering  above 
the  lake,  is  clearly  seen  on  the  right;  just  below  is  Weggis,  and 
further  on  the  bright  buildings  of  Lucerne  shine  in  the  sunlight, 
while  the  lake,  with  its  different  arms,  looks  like  "a  painted 
sea."  All  around  and  above  are  the  huge  red  rocks  of  the 
Eigi.  There  are  two  or  three  stations  along  the  route,  but  we 
push  steadily  on,  the, views  becoming  grander  and  grander 
with  each  successive  step,  until  the  summit  is  reached,  and  then 
the  panorama  is  complete.  You  see  the  Alps  in  the  eastern 
part  of  Switzerland,  the  massive  pile  of  the  Loudi,  all  the  west- 
ern mountains  of  Schwyz,  and  to  the  north  the  cantons  of  Zug, 
Zurich  and  Lucerne  spread  out  like  a  map  at  our  feet.  Way 
down  the  valley  can  be  seen  eleven  different  lakes,  with  little 
clumps  of  houses,  the  villages  on  the  shores  of  the  "  Yierwald- 
statter  See." 

Passing  by  the  great  hotels  that  flourish  here  so  high  above 
the  world,  we  go  to  the  great  bluff  which  is  so  prominently 
seen  from  Lucerne,  and  there  the  view  is  magnificent.  As  far 
as  the  eye  can  reach  on  the  south  are  the  countless  peaks  of  the 
Alps,  covered  with  snow  the  year  around.  'Near  at  hand  are 
beautiful  valleys  with  winding  rivers  and  straight,  thread-hke 
roads. 

As  we  stand  there,  lost  in  wonder  at  the  overpowering 


RIGI    KULM. 


581 


magnificence  of  the  scene,  the  sun,  which  up  to  this  time  had 

been  shining  brightly,  was  obscured  by  clouds,  and  we  were 

treated  to  a  thunder  storm  which  raged  with  terrific  fury  for 

half  an  hour  or 

more.     Then 

the    sun    broke 

forth    again    in 

all  his  splendor 

and  we  saw  the 

clouds  disappear 

beneath    his 

powerful  rays. 

Sunrise  as 
seen  from  the 
Eigi  Kulm  is 
said  to  be  one 
of  the  most 
magnificent 
sights  imagina- 
ble. One  enthu- 
siastic German 
writer  gives  a 
very  glowing 
account  of  it, 
which  has  been 
literally  trans- 
lated and  is  sold 
in  all  the  book- 
s tores  in  Lu- 
cerne.        The  RAILWAY  UP  THE  RIGI. 

translation  is  so  good  (?)  that  it  should  be  universally  read.     A 
portion  of  it  is  reproduced : 

"  The  starlight  night  far  expanded  and  aromatic  with  the  herbs  of  the 
Alps  and  the  meadow  ground,  now  begins  to  assume  a  gray  and  hazy  veil. 
Their  mists  arise  from  the  top  of  the  feathered  pines,  an  airy  crowd  of 
ghost-like  silent  shapes  approaching  the  light,  that  with  a  feebly  pale 
glimmering  dawns  in  the  East.  It  is  a  strange  beginning,  a  gentle  breath 
of  the  morning  air  greets  us  from  the  rocky  walls  in  the  deep,  and  brings 
confused  noises  from  below.  That  is  a  signal  for  all  who  did  not  like  to 
ascend  so  high,  without  beholding  the  sunrise.  Meanwhile  the  day  breaks  out 


582 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


bright  and  clear;  a  golden  stripe,  getting  broader  and  broader,  covers  the 
mountains  of  St.  Gall;  the  peaks  of  snow  change  their  colors,  indifferently 
wliite  at  first,  then  yellowish,  and  at  last  they  turn  a  lovely  pink.  The 
new-born  day  illuminates  them.  Now,  a  general  suspense  !  One  bright 
flash  —  and  the  first  ray  of  the  sun  shoots  forth.  A  loud  and  general  "  oh  " 
bursts  out.  The  public  feels  grateful,  be  it  a  ray  of  the  rising  sun,  or  a 
rocket  burnt  off  and  dying  away  in  the  distance,  with  an  illuminating  tail 
of  fire,  and,  after  the  refulgent  globa,  giving  life  to  our  little  planet,  has 


THE  RIGI   RAILWAY. 

fully  risen,    the   crowd  of  people  drop  off  one  by   one   to  their  various 
occupations." 

The  ride  down,  while  full  of  surprising  views,  is  not  so 
interesting  as  the  ascent,  for  one  is  familiar  with  every  turn, 
and  has  not  that  feeling  of  novelty  that  impresses  him  while 
going  up. 

Going  back  to  Lucerne  we  are  treated  to  a  magnificent 
sunset,  old  Sol  sinking  behind  the  mountains  with  a  grand 
blaze  of  glory  that  tinges  tho  peaks  all  around  the  horizon 
with  a  brilliant  golden  outline. 

On  the  eastern  border  of  this  wondrously  beautiful  lake  is 


TELL'S    CHAPEL. 


583 


a  chapelj  built,  it  is  said,  upon  tiie  spot  where  Tell  leaped  from 


the  boat  of  Gesler,  the  Austrian  tyrant,  while  on  his  way  to 
prison,  and   shot   him.     It  is  a  pretty  little  structure,  at  the 


584 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


water's  edge,  and  is  every  year  visited  by  thousands  of  people 
who  come  to  enthuse  over  the  alleged  Swiss  patriot. 

I  should  have  enthused  with  the  rest,  only  ever  since  I  have 
been  in  Switzerland  I  have  been  investigating  Tell,  and  to  my 
profound  grief  I  find  that  like  Sairy  Gamp's  Mrs.  Harris^ 
"There  ain't  no  sich.a  person,"  and  never  Avas. 

"When  I  say  to  my  profound  grief,  I  mean  it.  In  my  "boy- 
hood—  alas,  that  was  many  a  year  ago  —  I  had  several  pet 
heroes  among  men  and  things.     Tell  shooting  the  arrow  off 

his  boy's  head 
and  saving  an- 
other arrow  to 
shoot  G  e  s  1  e  r 
had  he  harmed 
his  son,  was  one 
of  them;  Jack- 
son and  his  cot- 
ton bales  at 
New  Orleans 
was  another; 
the  maelstrom, 
sucking  down 
whales  and 
ships,  as  depict- 
ed in  the  school 
geographies, 
was  another; 
and  then  came 
Welling  t  on 
with  his  "Tip 
guards  and  at 
'em,"  at  Water- 
loo, the  quiet 
but  heroic  General  Taylor  at  Monterey  with  his  "A  little  more 
grape.  Captain  Bragg!  "with  others  too  tedious  to  mention. 
Among  my  especial  hatreds  was  the  cruel  King  Eichard,  of 
England,  who  slaughtered  the  infant  princes  in  the  tower. 

Alas  for  history  and  geography !  One  by  one  these  idols 
were   dismounted.      Later   geographical   investigation   proves 


TELL'S  CHAPEL,    LAKE  OF  LUCERNE. 


HISTORICAL    KOMANCE.  585 

that  there  is  no  maelstrom  on  the  coast  of  Norway ;  that  the 
statement  was  founded  upon  a  few  rather  ugly  currents  that 
swirl  and  eddy  among  some  islands,  but  which  are  yet  per- 
fectly safe  for  vessels  of  light  draft. 

I  had  scarcely  recovered  from  this  before  it  came  to  light 
that  Jaclison's  riflemen  did  not  rest  their  unerring  pieces  upon 
cotton  bales.  "When  one  thinlvs  of  it,  it  would  be  rather  risky 
to  fire  flint-lock  rifles  over  such  inflammable  material  as  cotton,, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  confession  of  that  Brobindignagian  fraud, 
Yincent  Nolte,  who  confessed  that  all  there  was  of  the  cotton 
story  was  this :  He  was  moving  a  few  bales  of  cotton  he  had 
in  New  Orleans  up  the  country  for  safety,  when  it  was  feared 
the  British  would  burn  the  city,  and  one  of  his  mule  teams^ 
with  two  bales  upon  the  wagon,  was  passing  where  some 
Tennesseeans  were  throwing  up  an  earthwork.  The  wild 
backwoodsmen,  in  sheer  mischief,  upset  the  wagon,  cut  the 
mules  loose,  and  buried  the  two  bales  and  the  wagon  under 
the  earth.  Then,  as  he  sued  the  government,  per  custom,  for 
the  price  of  five  hundred  bales,  it  was  said  that  the  battle  was. 
fought  behind  cotton,  and  the  pictures  show  it. 

For  Wellington  to  have  said  "Up  guards  and  at  them!'^ 
would  be  to  presume  that  Wellington  was  in  the  extreme  front 
with  the  guards,  and  Taylor,  to  have  made  his  exclamation, 
must  have  been  sitting  on  his  horse  beside  Captain  Bragg^ 
something  generals  never  do. 

But  I  said,  though  all  these  are  gone,  I  have  my  Tell  left 
me.  Alas!  Swiss  and  German  investigators  have  proved 
conclusively  that  there  never  was  such  a  man  as  Tell ;  that 
Gesler  is  quite  as  much  of  a  fiction,  and  that  the  whole  busi- 
ness of  the  apple  on  the  son's  head,  the  leap  from  the  boat, 
and  ail  the  rest  of  it,  is  a  poetic  legend,  the  counterpart  of 
which  may  be  found  in  the  literature  of  all  old  people.  There 
is  no  mention  either  of  Tell  or  Gesler  in  any  authentic  history. 

But  I  thank  heaven  my  objects  of  dislike  are  proved  to  be 
just  as  much  fictions  as  the  others.  For  up  comes  an  English 
essayist  who  proves  that  Eichard  III.  did  not  smother  the 
infant  princes,  that  he  was  not  a  cruel,  humpbacked  tyrant, 
but  was  the  wisest  and  best  king  England  had  ever  had,  and 
that  his  untimely  taking  off  was  one  of  the  greatest  misfor- 
tunes that  ever  befell  that  country. 


586  NASBY   m    EXILE. 

So  these  investigators  have  reduced  humanity  to  a  sort  of 
average  dead  level,  with  no  Mt.  Blancs  of  goodness  and  no 
Jungfraus  of  badness. 

Tibbitts  was  very  indignant  when  I  told  him  this  about 
Tell.  lie  remarked  that  he  preferred  not  to  believe  the  inves- 
tigators; he  preferred  to  believe  in  Tell.  He  didn't  care  a 
straw  for  the  investigators,  he  defied  them.  Suppose  Tell 
■didn't  shoot  the  apple  ?  What  then  ?  Tell  shooting  the  apple 
made  a  picturesque  picture,  and  it  pleased  him.  He  protested 
against  reducing  all.  mankind  to  the  drawing  of  molasses  and 
the  hewing  of  calico.  Pie  wanted  heroes  and  heroines,  and  if 
they  didn't  appear  in  real  life  the  poet  gave  them  to  us,  and 
it  did  just  as  well. 

By  this  time  Tibbitts  got  wound  up.  ''  Hoav  does  any  one 
know  that  there  was  no  Tell?  I  demand  proof.  You  can't 
prove  that  there  was  not  such  a  man,  and  that  he  did  7iot  do 
the  feats  ascribed  to  him.  Yery  well !  I  assert  there  was  such 
a  man ;  that  there  was  a  Gesler ;  that  Gesler  put  his  iiat  on  a 
pole  in  the  market  place,  and  required  everybody  to  bow  to  it, 
and  Tell  refused ;  and  then  Gesler  insisted  that  he  should  shoot 
an  apple  from  his  boy's  head,  and  he  did  it.  You  have  no 
23roof  that  this  is  not  so.  I  have  proof  that  it  is.  I  can  show 
you  the  market  place,  and  an  apple.  That  the  feat  is  possible 
every  schoolboy  knoAvs,  for  have  we  not  all  seen  Buffalo  Bill 
do  the  same  thing  in  the  theaters  ?  And,  then,  if  it  were  not 
precisely  true,  it  should  have  been.  We  want  such  incidents 
to  keep  alive  a  love  of  country,  a  healthy  spirit  of  patriotism, 
and  a  wholesome  hatred  of  tyrants  who  go  about  putting  caps 
upon  poles  and  requiring  people  to  bow  to  them.  Admitting 
it  to  be  a  fable,  Ave  want  more  such  fables.  What  difference 
does  it  make  if  it  is  a  fable  ?  Does  it  not  inculcate  a  great 
principle  just  the  same  ?  And  inculcating  a  great  principle  is 
the  main  thing.  I  hold  to  Tell  with  all  the  simple  faith  I  had 
in  childhood,  and  even  more.  For  in  childhood  Tell  was  merely 
a  romantic  and  highly  colored  sensation  —  now  he  has  grown 
to  the  sublime  dimensions  of  a  moral  necessity." 

And  in  spite  of  the  bald  facts  staring  him  in  the  face,  he 
went  into  ecstacies  in  the  chapel,  and  spoke  of  it  as  a  "  shrine," 
and  remarked  that  it  would  be  better  for  the  world  had  it  had 
more  Tells,  and  said  everything  that  everybody  says. 


SWISS  REVERENCE  FOR  TELL.  587 

The  Young  Man  who  Knows  Everything  ambled  m  at  this 
point  with  the  remark  that  worms  were  made  for  sparrows, 
and  the  sparrows  know  it.  It  is  a  beautiful  provision  of 
nature  that  the  strong  eat  the  weak.  If  intellect  and  strength 
won't  provide  a  living,  what  is  the  use  of  intellect  and  strength. 
A  man  might  as  well  be  a  fool  as  anything  else,  if  he  can 't  live 
on  his  mental  endowments. 

Which,  as  it  had  no  earthly  application  to  the  subject  under 
discussion,  was  characteristic,  very.     But  it  satisfied  him. 

But  you  had  better  not  express  any  doubt  as  to  Tell  to 
any  of  the  Swiss,  especially  in  this  region.  They  believe  in  him 
as  firmly  as  Americans  do  in  Washington,  and  in  the  apple  as 
steadily  as  we  do  in  the  hatchet.  There  was  a  book  published 
in  Berne,  proving  Tell  to  be  a  myth,  and  it  was  suppressed  by 
the  government,  and  all  the  copies  in  circulation  siezed  and 
burned. 

Tell  is  a  national  pride,  and  besides,  the  legend  brings 
tourists  into  the  country,  and  keeps  them  longer  after  they 
come,  which  is  a  matter  of  national  profit.  And  so,  between 
pride  and  profit,  they  keep  up  the  fiction,  and  will,  to  the  end 
of  time. 

However,  I  still  beUeve  in  Washington's  hatchet,  and  in 
Franklin's  eating  bread  in  the  streets  of  Philadelphia.  I  am 
going  to  cling  to  something  of  my  youth.  But  I  suppose 
somebody  will  disembowel  these  legends  in  the  course  of  time, 
and  life  thereafter  will  be  as  monotonous  as  a  mill-pond — all 
on  a  dead  level. 


CIIAPTEK  XXXIX. 


ZURICH    AND    STRASBUKG. 


Leaving  Lucerne,  Mont  Pilatus  and  the  Kigi  behind  us,  we 
speed  rapidly  on  through  pleasant  valleys  and  fragrant  mead- 
ows. The  country  loses  its  high,  mountainous  nature,  and 
becomes  a  level,  well-farmed  district,  extremely  pleasant  after 
three  weeks  of  notiiing  but  huge  mountains,  steep  passes  and 
rugged  hills.  Mountain  scenery  is  all  very  well  in  its  way> 
but  one  can  have  too  much  of  it.     A  little  is  quite  sufficient. 

Zurich  is  a  beautiful  city,  lying  around  the  head  of  the  lake 
of  the  same  name.  The  old  portion  dates  back  to  the  twelfth 
century,  and  contains  many  interesting  relics  of  that  period. 
But  around  the  old  part  there  has  grown  up  a  fine  modern 
city,  whose  solid  substantial  buildings,  of  fine  architecture,  con- 
trast strangely  with  the  old  houses  and  churches  that  were 
built  centuries  ago. 

Its  location  could  not  be  more  beautiful.  In  front  is  the 
clear  pale-green  lake,  from  which  the  limpid  Limmat  emerges 
and  divides  the  city  into  two  parts.  Its  shores  are  lined  with 
picturesque  villas,  peeping  out  from  among  the  orchards  and 
vineyards  that  clothe  the  banl\:s,  clear  to  the  foot  of  the  snow 
clad  Alps  which  form  a  strong  background,  being  so  far  away 
that  they  are  soft  and  subdued  in  the  hazy  air  that  partly 
obscures  them  from  view. 

The  pride  of  Zurich  is  her  schools,  indeed  all  of  German 
Switzerland  is  proud  to  recognize  this  place  as  its  educational 
center.  For  centuries  it  has  enjoyed  this  distinction,  and  its 
University,  founded  in  1832,  is  maintaining  m  these  years  the 
reputation  of  the  city. 

Where  German  is  spoken  three  things  are  always  found, 
music,  wine  and  beer.     Bacchus,  Gambrinus  and  Orpheus  go 

(588) 


BEER    AND    MUSIC, 


589 


hand  in  hand,  and  they  engross  the  German  mind  about 
equally.  Zurich  has  more  music  to  the  square  foot  than  any 
of  the  Swiss  cities,  and  the  other  two  members  of  the  trinity 
are  by  no  means  neglected. 

The  Tonhalle  is  a  spacious  building  finely  decorated  with 
rare  plants  and  flowers,  and  brilliantly  lighted  with  gas  jets 


TIBBITTS  IN  A   CONCERT  HALL,   ZURICH. 

springing  from  artificial  palm  trees.  Here  the  good  citizens 
of  Zurich  spend  an  evening  of  perfect  enjoyment.  An  orches- 
tra of  seventy  pieces,  each  performer  a  trained  musician, 
renders  a  programme  of  classical  and  popular  music,  in  the 
most  perfect  manner.  The  vast  audience,  composed  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  of  the  best  standing,  sit  around  the  little 
round  tables  sipping  their  light  wine  or  beer,  listening  to  the 


690  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

music  and,  during  the  intervals,  chatting  and  laughing  and 
thoroughly  enjoying  themselves.  There  is  a  something  about 
such  an  evening  that  is  irresistable.  The  perfect  order  that 
prevails,  the  exquisite  music,  the  brilliancy  of  the  room,  all 
combined  to  make  it  a  perfect  delight.  Night  after  night  — 
the  programme  is  never  twice  alike  —  the  Tonhalle  is  crowded 
with  the  wealth  and  fashion  of  Zurich,  people  of  refinement 
and  culture,  who  can  fully  appreciate  and  enjoy  the  delightful 
music. 

There  is  one  custom  which  obtains  all  over  Germany,  and 
especially  in  Zurich,  which  is  a  German  city  in  reality,  which 
custom  I  would  could  be  transplanted  in  all  its  native  vigor  to 
America ;  and  that  is  the  carrying  of  the  family  relation  into 
amusement  as  well  as  business. 

A  Zuricher  doesn't  eat  his  supper  in  silence,  his  mind  full  of 
his  business,  and  after,  without  a  word,  put  on  his  hat  and 
overcoat,  and  with  some  indistinct  reference  to  a  lodge  or  a 
council  meeting,  or  "the  office,"  walk  off  to  a  club  or  beer 
place,  and  spend  the  evening  convivially,  only  to  return  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  and  roll  into  his  bed  without  knowing  or 
caring  whether  his  wife  and  children  have  had  a  pleasant 
evening  or  no. 

Not  he !  On  the  contrary,  he  consults  his  wife  at  lunch  as 
to  whether  she  prefers  a  dinner  at  home  or  at  the  gardens. 
The  programmes  of  the  various  places  are  consulted,  and  it  is 
decided,  we  will  say,  that  the  Tonhalle  affords  the  most  pon- 
derous inducement;  and  so  the  whole  family  —  father,  mother, 
children,  and  grandchildren  and  grandparents,  if  such  there 
be  —  go  together  and  dine  to  the  soft  pleasings  of  the  lute,  or, 
rather,  to  the  music  of  a  magnificent  orchestra. 

For,  be  it  known,  at  all  these  musical*  resorts  there  are 
superb  restaurants,  where  splendid  repasts  are  served  at  a  very 
low  price,  so  that  in  the  matter  of  expense  it  makes  no  differ- 
ence whether  a  family  dines  at  home  or  at  the  public  gardens. 

The  whole  family  sit  and  chat  over  their  dinner  in  the 
jolliest  way,  listening  to,  enjoying  and  discussing  the  music, 
and  after  the  dinner  there  is  the  long  evening  over  the  delight- 
ful light  wines  for  the  ladies  and  children,  and  the  heavier 
beer  for  the  adults ;  there  are  cigars  for  the  males,  and  confec- 


THE    SWISS    WAY.  591 

tions  for  the  women  and  children,  and  so  on,  until  the  hour 
comes  for  home. 

These  concerts  are  made  up  of  all  kinds  of  music,  from  the 
weightiest  classical  to  the  most  simple  and  popular,  but  the 
simple  and  popular  is  rendered  with  as  much  painstaking  con- 
scientiousness as  the  highest.  They  do  "  Way  down  upon  the 
Swanee  River  "  as  conscientiously  as  a  selection  from  Wagner, 
and  as  the  performance  lasts  four  hours  or  more  there  is  variety 
enough  to  suit  every  taste. 

And  then,  after  it  is  over,  the  whole  family  go  home,  pleased 
with  their  simple  enjoyment,  and  they  go  home  together.  The 
husband  does .  not  stop  on  the  way ;  his  enjoyment  is  with  his 
family,  and  in  his  family. 

There  is  no  more  pleasant  sight  in  Europe  than  a  Swiss  or 
German  family  around  one  of  these  tables,  enjoying  drinking, 
music,  smoking,  and  conversation,  all  at  once.  Happy  people ! 
They  have  the  rare  art  of  gratifying  all  the  senses  at  once,  at 
less  cost  than  an  American  can  any  one  singly.  The  whole 
cost  of  an  evening  in  the  Tonhalle  for  a  man  and  his  entire 
family  is  less  than  many  an  American  of  very  moderate  means 
spends  upon  himself  alone,  and  they  get  ten  times  as  much  out 
of  it  as  we  do. 

Tibbitts  insisted  the  first  night  he  was  with  a  German 
family  at  one  of  these  places,  that  he  should  certainly  marry 
a  German  girl  and  settle  in  Switzerland.  When  you  can  dine 
a  large  family  for  a  dollar,  wine,  music  and  cigars  included, 
was  his  remark,  there  is  some  inducement  for  having  a  family. 
He  could  afford,  if  the  price  of  land  kept  up  in  Wisconsin,  to 
have  an  indefinite  number  of  children. 

And  the  Young  Man  who  Knows  Everything,  who  felt  the 
influence  of  the  heady  wine  he  had  drank,  added,  with  great 
gravity:  "Better  a  dinner  of  herbs  on  a  housetop  with  a 
brawling  woman,  than  to  dwell  with  a  stalled  ox  in  the  tents 
of  wickedness."      It   was   his   time  for  a   quotation. 

From  Zurich  through  Basle,  or  Bale,  we  come  to  Strasburg, 
one  of  the  most  interesting  cities  in  Europe. 

In  this  old  city  of  Strasburg,  founded  by  the  Romans 
hundreds  of  years  ago,  we  get  a  better  idea  of  old  architecture 
than  in  any  city  yet  visited.  Its  narrow,  crooked  streets,  with 
high,  many-storied  roofs,  tell  the  story  of  its  age  in  unmis- 


•692  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

takable  Janguage.  The  unique  wood  carving  that  embellishes 
the  fagacles  of  so  man\^  of  tiie  old  wooden  buildings  look 
strange  and  out  of  place  in  this  matter-of-fact  age,  but  in 
years  gone  by  they  gave  to  Strasburg  the  name  of  "  the  most 
beautiful  city." 

Approaching  the  city  we  pass  a  number  of  strong  fortifica- 
tions, which  were  in  active  use  during  the  Franco-Prussian 
war.  Strasburg,  two  miles  from  the  Ehine,  has  always  been 
a  strategical  point,  and  played  a  very  important  part  in  the 
struggle  of  1870-71.  the  siege,  Avhich  lasted  from  the  thirteenth 
of  August  till  the  twenty-seventh  of  September,  being  one  of 
the  marked  episodes  of  the  war. 

Once  in  the  city  the  tourist  turns  first  to  the  cathedral, 
which  stands  nearly  in  the  center  of  the  city.  Unfortunately 
for  the  general  effect,  it  is  located  in  a  neighborhood  of 
narrow  streets  and  ugly  high-roofed  houses  that  entirely 
surround  the  massive  pile,  and  the  first  impression  is  rather 
disappointing.  But  this  feeling  soon  wears  off.  There  is  a 
certain  majesty  about  the  noble  building  that  compels  admi- 
ration, while  the  cloud-cleaving  spire,  wondrously  graceful,  is  a 
marvel  of  strength  and  grace.  It  is  a  fascinating  structure. 
The  more  one  studies  its  beautiful  proportions,  and  the  wonder- 
ful decorations  which  so  profusely  embelhsh  it,  the  more  he  is 
struck  with  wonder  at  the  genius  of  the  architect  and  the  skill 
of  the  patient  builders. 

The  present  cathedral  was  begun  some  time  during  the 
twelfth  century,  on  the  site  of  one  destroyed  by  fire,  said  to 
have  been  built  during  the  sixth  century.  Tradition  says  that 
the  site  of  the  present  cathedral  has  been  devoted  to  worship 
from  the  remotest  times ;  that  there  was  a  sacred  wood  in  the 
midst  of  which  the  Celts  built  their  Druidical  Dolmen.  After 
the  Romans  conquered  Gaul,  they  founded  a  fortified  town, 
where  Strasburg  now  stands,  and  in  place  of  the  Dolmen  they 
dedicated  a  temple  to  Hercules  and  Mars.  Old  chronicles 
record  that  in  the  fourth  century  St.  Armand  built  a  church  on 
the  ruins  of  an  old  Roman  temple,  the  previous  existence  of 
which  is  authenticated  by  the  finding  of  several  brass  statues  of 
Hercules  and  Mars,  during  the  excavations  for  the  foundations 
of  the  first  cathedral. 

From  the  beginning  of  the  work  on  the  present  cathedral 


THE  CATHEDKAL. 


593 


down  to  ISTO  it  has  been  terribly  unfortunate,  having  been 
burned,  struck  by  lightning,  shaken  by  earthquakes,  and  in 
1870  it  suffered  terribly  by  the  cannon  balls  of  the  German 
In  the  first  part  of  the  siege  of  Strasburg,  the  Ger- 


besiegers. 


PRINCIPAL  ENTRANCE  TO  STRASBURa  CATHEDRAL. 

mans  tried  to  force  the  surrender  by  the  bombardment  and 

partial  destruction  of  the  inner  town.     In  the  night  of  the  2e3d 

of  August  began  for  the  frightened  inhabitants  the  real  time 

of  terror;  however,  that  night  the  rising  conflagrations,  for 

instance  in  St.  Thomas'  Church,  were  quickly  put  out.     But  in 
38  .  ' 


694  ■  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

the  following  night  the  new  church,  the  library  of  the  town^ 
the  museum  of  painting,  and  many  of  the  finest  houses,  became 
a  heap  of  ruins,  and  under  the  hail  of  shells  all  efforts  to 
extinguish  the  fire  were  useless.  For  the  cathedral  the  night 
from  the  25th  to  the  26th  of  August  was  the  worst.  Towards 
midnight  the  flames  broke  out  from  the  roof  perforated  by 
shells,  and  increased  by  the  melting  copper  they  rose  to  a  fear- 
ful height  beside  the  pyramid  of  the  spire.  The  sight  of  this 
grand  volume  of  flames,  rising  above  the  town,  was  indescrib- 
able and  tinged  the  whole  sky  with  its  glowing  reflection. 
And  the  guns  went  on  thundering,  and  shattering  parts  of  the 
stone  ornaments  which  adorned  the  front  and  sides  of  the 
cathedral.  The  whole  roof  came  down  and  the  fire  died  out 
for  want  of  fuel. 

The  following  morning  the  interior  was  covered  with 
ruins,  and  through  the  holes  in  the  vault  of  the  nave  one 
could  see  the  blue  sky.  The  beautiful  organ  built  b}^  Silber- 
mann  was  pierced  by  a  sheD,  and  the  magniflcent  painted 
windows  were  in  great  part  spoiled.  On  the  4th  of  September 
two  shells  hit  the  crown  of  the  cathedral  and  hurled  the  stone 
masses  to  incredible  distance ;  on  the  15th  a  shot  came  even 
into  the  point  below  the  cross,  which  was  bent  on  one  side,  and 
had  its  threatened  fall  only  prevented  by  the  iron  bars  of  the 
lightning  conductor  which  held  it. 

After  the  entrance  of  the  Germans  into  the  reconquered 
town,  the  dij9B.cult  and  dangerous  work  of  restoration  of  the 
point  of  the  spire  was  begun  at  once  and  happily  ended  a  few 
months  after.  They  have  now  obliterated  all  traces  of  the 
ruin  and  devastation  of  that  dreadful  time. 

This  is  war,  and  what  was  this  war  all  about  ?  Why,  Louis 
Kapoleon,  who  stole  France  and  kept  the  French  enslaved  by 
amusing  one-half  of  them  that  he  might  rob  the  other  half^ 
had  to  appeal  to  French  patriotism  and  plunge  France  into  a 
war  to  cover  his  Imperial  thefts.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
Kaiser  William,  and  the  iron-handed  Bismarck,  w^ho  had  been 
grinding  the  people  of  Germany  for  years  to  prepare  for  war, 
were  not  slow  to  accept  the  challenge.  What  they  w^anted 
was  to  have  more  territory  to  plunder.  There  Avas  no  bad 
blood  between  the  French  and  German  people ;  it  was  the  self- 


ROYALTY.  595 

constituted  rulers  of  the  two  peoples,  who,  for  their  own  glory, 
set  them  to  butchering  each  other.     And  so  at  it  they  went. 

These  kings  and  emperors  respect  neither  God  nor  man, 
and  so  they  sent  their  bombs  hurtling  through  this  wonderful 
temple  dedicated  to  God. 

Nothing  to  the  gunners  inspired  by  royalty  was  the  delicate 
tracery,  the  genius-inspired  proportions,  the  almost  breathing 
statues,  the  wonderfully  beautiful  spire,  that  crystallized  dream ; 
nothing  to  them  the  magnificent  organ,  attuned  to  the  sweetest 
worship  of  the  Most  High,  nothing  the  recollections  of  the 
centuries  that  clustered  about  it,  nothing  the  art  treasures  it 
held.     It  was  Strasburg,  and  Strasburg  must  fall. 

And  they  counted  God's  images  in  the  doomed  city  even 
less  than  they  did  God's  temple.  And  so  they  sent  shells 
crashing  through  the  homes  of  Strasburg,  and  men  were 
killed  in  its  streets,  women  in  the  houses,  and  children  in  their 
cradles.  It  made  no  difference  to  the  white-bearded  William, 
the  iron-handed  Bismarck,  or  the  sensual  Napoleon.  It  was 
their  fight,  bat  they  bore  none  of  the  suffering.  The  Kaiser 
actually  had  the  impudence  to  order  a  thanksgiving  for  the 
slaughter  of  ten  thousand  Frenchmen,  and  Louis  Napoleon 
would  have  done  the  same  had  he  been  in  condition. 

I  have  expressed  my  opinion  of  kings  before.  The  more 
one  sees  of  them  and  their  work  the  less  love  he  has  for  them. 
Soldiers  and  thin  soup  for  the  people  in  Germany,  soldiers  and 
starvation  in  Ireland.  That's  what  royalty  and  nobihty  mean 
everywhere  —  brute  force  and  suffering. 

The  fagade  of  the  great  cathedral  is  by  Erwin,  of  Stein- 
bach,  the  most  famous  architect  of  the  middle  ages,  and  is  a 
marvel  of  beauty,  its  massive  proportions  being  toned  down 
and  improved  by  the  innumerable  figures,  statues,  and  a  fine 
rose  window,  forty-two  feet  in  diameter,  that  adorn  it. 

Entering  the  cathedral,  one  is  greatly  impressed  with  the 
harmonious  effect  produced  by  the  massive  yet  graceful  columns 
from  which  spring  the  light  arches  that  form  the  ceiling.  The 
proportions  are  admirable,  the  height  being  ninety-nine  feet, 
the  width  forty-five  yards,  and  the  length  one  hundred  and 
twenty- one  yards. 

The  pulpit,  a  ^e  specimen  of  stone  carving,  dates  back  to 


590 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


1485,  and  affords  a  good  idea  of  the  style  of  art  that  flour- 
ished in  Germany  at  that  time. 

Next  to  the  cathedral  itself,  which  demands  a  great  deal  of 
study,  the  great  astronomical  clock  attracts  the  most  attention. 


PIG  MARKET,  STRASBURG. 

It  was  constructed  during  the  years  1838-42,  by  a  Strasburg 
clockmaker  named  Schwilgue,  and  is  a  wonderful  piece  of 
mechanism.     The  exterior,  handsomely  decorated  with  exqui- 


THE    WONDERFUL    CLOCK.  597 

site  carvings  and  paintings,  shows  a  perpetual  calendar,  w4th 
the  feasts  that  vary,  according  to  their  connection  with  Easter 
or  Advent  Sunday.  The  dial,  which  is  thirty  feet  in  circum- 
ference, is  subject  to  a  revolution  in  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  or  three  hundred  and  sixty-six  days,  and  indicates  the 
suppression  of  the  circular  bi-sextile  days.  There  is  also  a 
complete  planetarium,  representing  the  mean  tropical  revolu- 
tions of  each  of  the  planets  visible  to  the  naked  eye,  the  phases 
of  the  moon,  and  the  eclipses  of  the  sun  and  moon  calculated 
forever. 

Then  with  the  same  mechanism  a  number  of  figures  are 
made  to  go  through  certain  motions  at  stated  intervals.  At 
noon  the  twelve  apostles  appear  before  the  Savior,  w^ho  raises 
his  hands  to  bless  them,  during  which  time  a  cock  flaps  his 
wings,  and  crows  three  times.  A  figure  of  Death  stands  in 
the  midst  of  figures  representing  the  four  ages,  childhood 
striking  the  first  quarter  of  the  hour,  youth  the  second,  man- 
hood the  third,  and  old  age  the  last.  Just  before  each  quarter 
is  struck,  one  of  the  two  genii  seated  above  this  perpetual 
calendar  strikes  a  note  of  warning.  When  the  hour  is  struck 
by  Death,  the  second  of  these  genii  turns  over  the  hour  glass 
he  holds  in  his  hand.     It  is  a  wonderful  piece  of  mechanism. 

As  with  everything  else  of  public  interest  around  this  sec- 
tion, where  in  olden  times  imagination  ran  riot,  this  clock 
has  its  legend.  It  is  said  that,  long  ages  ago,  a  mechanic  of 
Strasburg  labored  and  studied  for  years  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  some  purpose  that  he  kept  secret  from  all  his  neigh- 
bors. Even  his  only  child,  a  lovely  girl  who  was  sought  in 
marriage  by  a  prospective  mayor  of  the  city,  and  by  a  hand- 
some young  clockmaker,  was  not  allowed  to  enter  the  room 
where  this  mysterious  work  w^as  being  carried  on. 

In  the  course  of  time  the  elder  suitor  was  made  mayor, 
and  then  proposed  for  the  hand  of  the  beautiful  girl,  who, 
loving  the  young  man,  refused  him.  Soon  after  this,  the  old 
mechanic  showed  to  the  astonished  citizens  of  Strasburg,  w^ho 
up  to  this  time  had  ridiculed  him  as  an  insane  person,  the 
wonderful  clock  he  had  constructed.  He  at  once  became  veiy 
popular,  much  to  the  disgust  of  the  mayor  who  had  been 
rejected  by  his  daughter. 


598  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

The  clock  maker's  fame  spread  all  over  the  country,  and  the 
citizens  of  Basel,  a  neighboring  city,  attempted,  to  buy  the 
wonderful  piece  of  mechanism.  But  the  corporation  of 
Strasburg  would  not  part  with  it,  and  caused  a  chapel  to  be 
built  in  the  cathedral  for  its  reception.  Then  the  citizens  of 
Basel  offered  a  large  sum  of  money  if  the  master  would  con- 
struct them  a  similar  clock,  and  he  accepted  their  oflFer. 

This  would  never  do.  The  wonderful  clock  was  the  princi- 
pal glory  of  Strasburg,  and  people  were  coming  from  all  parts 
of  the  then  civilized  world  to  see  it.  If  Basel  should  have  a 
clock  like  it  or  superior  to  it,  it  would  divide  the  trade  as  w^ell 
as  the  glory,  and  Strasburg,  instead  of  standing  alone  as  the 
possessor  of  such  a  piece  of  mechanism,  would  have  a  rival. 
Should  Basel  get  a  clock,  the  citizen  thereof  would  cock  his  hat 
upon  one  side  of  his  head  and  say,  to  a  Strasburger,  *'You 
need  n't  put  on  airs  about  your  old  clock,  with  its  twelve  apos- 
tles, and  all  that.  We  see  your  twelve  apostles  and  go  you  a 
Judas  Iscariot  better.  You  have  a  rooster  it  is  true,  we  admit 
that,  but  we  have  one  with  all  the  latest  improvements.  He 
flaps  his  wings  better  than  yours,  and  his  crow  is  three  times 
as  loud.     Come  over  to  Basel  and  see  a  really  good  clock." 

To  prevent  this  the  City  Council  of  Strasburg,  at  the 
suggestion  of  the  mayor  who  had  never  got  over  being  rejected 
by  the  clock-maker's  daughter,  determined  to  put  out  the  old 
gentleman's  eyes,  which  they  rightly  judged  would  prevent  him 
from  making  any  more  clocks,  and  Strasburg  woukl  still  have 
the  glory  of  owning  the  most  wonderful  one  in  the  world. 
This  was  assented  to  and  the  poor  man  was  asked  if  there  was 
anything  he  wanted  before  the  sentence  was  executed.  He 
asked  to  have  the  terrible  operation  performed  in  front  of  his 
noble  work.  When  taken  before  it,  he  gazed  at  it  fondly,  and 
secretly  slipped  out  of  place  two  or  three  important  springs. 
Just  as  the  torture  was  completed  the  works  in  the  clock  began 
to  whirr,  it  struck  thirteen  times  and  then  ceased  to  work. 
The  glory  of  Strasburg  was  destroyed.  The  artisan  lost  his 
sight,  the  city  its  clock,  the  mayor  his  love  —  in  short,  it  was  a 
dead  loss  all  around,  as  it  always  is  when  fair  dealing  is 
departed  from. 

Years  after  the  young  clockmaker  married  his  old  blind 


ST.  THOMAS.  599 

friend's  daughter,  and  after  many  years  of  hard,  steady  work, 
succeeded  in  repairing  and  improving  the  clock,  which  was  the 
predecessor  of  the  one  now  in  the  cathedral. 

This  is  the  legend  of  the  clock. 

In  the  Protestant  church  of  St.  Tliomas  is  one  of  the  finest 
monuments  in  Europe.  It  was  erected  by  Louis  XY.  in  honor 
of  Marshal  Saxe. 

In  front  of  a  high  tablet,  upon  which  there  is  a  long  inscrip- 
tion, is  a  figure  of  the  Marshal,  heroic  size,  dressed  in  mihtary 
uniform.  He  is  descending  a  short  flight  of  steps  leading  to  a 
coffin,  the  lid  of  which  Death  holds  open  for  his  reception. 
A  female  figure,  representing  France,  attempts  to  detain  the 
Marshal  and  ward  off  Death.  On  the  left,  Hercules  in  a 
mournful  attitude  leans  upon  his  club.  Commemorating  the 
Marshal's  victories  in  the  Flemish  war  are  the  Austrian  eagle5 
the  Dutch  lion  and  the  English  lion. 

The  whole  work  is  exquisitely  done,  the  figures  of  France 
and  Death  being  wonderful  specimens  of  carving  in  marble. 
The  artist,  Pigalle,  was  occupied  twenty  years  in  the  execution 
of  this  masterpiece. 

There  are  several  other  things  of  interest  in  the  old  church 
of  St.  Thomas,  besides  the  memorial  of  the  great  marshal, 
though  they  are  of  the  ghastly  order,  and  more  curious  than 
pleasing. 

A  great  many  years  ago  there  lived  in  Strasburg  a  lunatic 
whose  very  soul  was  bound  up  in  this  old  church.  His  soul 
being  devoted  to  it,  he  determined  to  throw  in  his  body,  and  so 
he  starved  himself  to  death  that  he  might  leave  the  corpora- 
tion more  money.  He  left  aU  his  fortune  to  the  church,  and 
the  least  it  could  do  was  to  give  him  a  tomb,  which  it  did,  and 
then  carved  upon  it  his  emaciated  form,  taking  him  after 
death,  that  nothing  should  be  lacking  in  ghastliness.  When 
religion  or  vanity,  or  a  compound  of  both,  is  freakish,  it  is  very 
freakish. 

The  most  repulsive  sight  in  all  Europe  is  within  these 
venerable  walls.  The  Duke  of  Nassau  wanted  immortality, 
and  so  his  remains  —  he  was  killed  in  battle — are  carefully 
preserved  in  a  glass  case,  hermetically  sealed,  clad  in  the  very 
garments  he  wore  when  death  struck  him.     And  after  he  was 


600  NASBY  IN  exilp:. 

killed  bis  little  daughter,  aged  ttiirteen,  died,  and  the  family 
had  her  poor  remains,  clad  in  the  silks  and  tinsel  of  the  period, 
disposed  of  in  the  same  way. 

And  there  they  are  to  this  day,  as  beautiful  a  commentary 
on  human  hopes  and  human  ambitions  as  one  would  wish  to  see. 

The  Duke  of  Nassau  was  a  mighty  man  in  his  day,  and  he 
hoped  to  be  remembered  of  men  for  all  time.  What  is  he 
now?  The  flesh  has  melted  from  his  bones,  the  very  bones 
are  crumbling  into  dust,  the  garments  in  which  he  was  clad 
are  disappearing,  and  all  there  is  of  him  is  a  grinning,  ghastly 
skeleton,  and  the  daughter  is  the  same  in  the  same  way ;  the 
flesh  has  disappeared  from  her  bones,  the  little  finger,  once  so 
plump  and  taper,  is  now  a  bone  which  time  has  eaten  away  to 
almost  nothing ;  the  ring  of  gold  which  she  wore  in  life  is  still 
there,  but  it  hangs  on  a  time- wasted  bone,  the  flesh  having 
melted  from  under  it. 

It  is  a  ghastly  commentary.  The  duke  undertook  a  fight 
with  Time  with  a  certainty  of  Time's  winning.  The  philoso- 
pher draws  a  moral  from  his  poor  remains,  the  loose-minded 
make  jokes  over  them.  Could  he  hear  the  comments  on  his 
once  august  body  he  would  get  up  and  walk  out  of  that  church, 
and  go  and  bury  himself  somewhere  in  some  cemetery,  that  he 
might,  as  he  should,  be  forgotten  once  for  all.  The  duke 
should  have  realized  the  fact  before  he  had  himself  put  in  this 
glass  case,  that  so  far  as  earth  goes,  everything  ends  with 
death,  and  that  efforts  that  men  have  made  to  perpetuate  their 
memory  have  been  invariably  failures.  The  kings  who  built 
the  pyramids,  solid  as  they  are,  are  scarcely  remembered, 

It  was  in  a  famous  beer  house  in  Strasburg  that  we  met  an 
American  who  was  not  of  the  regulation  kind,  and  who,  con- 
sequently, was  a  sweet  boon. 

He  came  into  the  place  with  a  slouching  gait,  though  his 
manner  was  by  no  means  deprecatory  or  humble.  There  was 
nothing  in  him  to  distinguish  him  from  the  regular  tramp, 
except  that  his  rum-illuminated  face  carried  on  its  surface  more 
intelligence  and  less  brutality  than  the  usual  tramp  shows,  and 
he  evidently  had  some  idea  of  not  bidding  eternal  good-bye  to 
his  respectability.  Instead  of  the  greasy  wrap  about  the 
throat  of  the   regular   tramp,  he  had  a  paper  collar,  which 


A   PHILOSOPHICAL    TRAMP.  601 

he  had  unquestionably  picked  up  somewhere  and  turned,  and 
his  coat  was  buttoned  up  carefully  to  conceal  the  painfully 
evident  absence  of  a  shirt,  a  deceit  the  confirmed  tramp  would 
scorn  to  practice.  And  then  he  wore  a  tall  hat,  and  had  made 
attempts  to  brush  it,  and  his  carriage,  Avhen  he  knew  he  w^as 
observed,  was  bold  and  defiant,  and  not  cringing  or  slouching. 

He  sat  down  at  the  table  with  us,  and  commenced  conver- 
sation with  some  remarks  about  the  weather,  some  original 
remarks  concerning  the  state  of  trade,  and  from  that  he  glided 
with  a  grace  that  was  to  be  commended  into  a  disquisition  as 
to  the  effect  upon  the  commerce  of  the  world  of  the  building 
of  a  ship-canal  across  the  Isthmus,  and  likewise  the  effect  it 
would  have  upon  the  climate  of  the  United  States,  ending  his 
conversation  with  the  request  of  the  loan  of  a  dollar. 

''  How  happens  it,"  I  asked,  "  that  a  man  informed  as  you 
are,  with  your  evident  education  and  your  general  inf ormation^ 
should  be  borrowing  dollars  in  this  way  ?  " 

" Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  he ;  "I  have  not  borrowed  dollars, 
to  yet,  though  I  hope  to.  You  have,  as  yet,  made  no  response 
as  my  modest  appeal.  But  why  am  I  thus  ?  Can  you  tell  ? 
Can  I  tell?  Who  is  responsible  for  what  happens  to  him? 
.Who  can  control  tastes?  Who  can  analyze  that  subtle  and 
unknown  thing  we  call  mind  ? " 

"  But  who  are  you,  anyhow  ? " 

"I  am  a  graduate  of  Harvard,  sir,  and  a  son  of  one  of 
the  once  wealthiest  men  in  Boston." 

"  Why  this  condition  of  thino^s,  then  ? " 

"My  dear  sir,  I  was  born  fortunately  —  you  would  say 
unfortunately —  I  say  fortunately.  I  had  tastes,  appetites,  and 
a  philosophical  mind.  While  a  student  I  indulged  those  tastes 
to  the  top  of  my  bent.  I  was  the  best  billiard  player,  the 
most  constant  and  steady  drinker,  the  hardest  rider,  and,  in 
fact,  the  most  confirmed  pleasure  seeker  in  the  college.  I 
utterly  refused  to  do  anything  that  did  not  please  me.  I  learned 
much,  for  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  afforded  me  a  dehght,  but 
I  would  -learn  nothing  the  getting  of  which  did  not  afford  me 
pleasure. 

"  At  the  close  of  my  college  career,  the  Avorld  was  before 
me.     The  question  was,  what  should  I  do?     What  should  be 


602  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

the  plan  of  my  life  ?  Should  I  go  into  business,  and  make  a 
great  fortune  ?  Should  I  go  into  literature,  and  make  myself 
an  imperishable  name  ?  Should  I  go  into  politics,  and  control 
the  destinies  of  nations  ? 

"Fortunately  philosophy  came  to  my  aid.  What  earthly 
good  would  all  this  do  me  ?  What  good  of  piling  up  money  ? 
"What  good  of  making  a  name,  and  what  earthly  use  was  there 
in  controlling  the  destiny  of  nations  ?  I  could  do  something 
for  myself,  and  what  I  did  for  myself  I  got  the  good  of,  but 
why  worry  about  making  a  name,  or  why  labor  to  make 
money  which  I  could  not  take  with  me? 

"  I  could  see  no  good  in  any  of  it,  and  so  I  followed  the 
impulses  of  my  nature,  feeling  that  if  nature  was  no  guide 
then  was  I  lost,  indeed. 

"  I  sang,  I  drank,  I  yachted,  I  did  everything  till  my  money 
was  gone,  and  here  I  am." 

''  Would  it  not  have  been  better  for  you  had  you  followed  a 
more  reputable  career?" 

"  ]  don't  see  it.  I  could  have  done  anything  that  I  wanted 
to,  but  to  what  purpose  ?  Sir,  the  world  is  coming  to  an  end, 
shortly.  The  approach  of  various  planets  to  the  earth,  the 
frequency  of  comets,  the  changes  so  common  now  that  have 
been  totally  unknown,  all  conspire  to  a  very  sudden  ending  of 
the  planet  on  which  we  live  and  move.  Within  my  life-time, 
doubtless,  there  will  be  a  collapse.  We  shall  either  get  away 
from  the  sun  or  get  into  it,  or  some  erratic  planet  will  come 
bouncing  into  us,  and  the  entire  universe  will  go  to  eternal 
smash.  The  earth  will  either  melt  or  freeze  solid,  or  it  will  be 
dispersed  into  infinitesimal  fragments. 

"•  Now,  sir,  let  me  ask  you  what  encouragement  there  is  for 
a  man  to  worry  himself  about  making  a  fortune  with  this 
terrible  condition  of  things  staring  him  in  the  face?  What 
good  would  the  ownership  of  the  New  York  Central  Eailroad 
be  when  there  is  a  certainty  that  the  entire  structure,  road-bed, 
depots,  rolling  stock  and  everything  v»^ill  be  utterly  destroyed 
within  my  life-time?  Under  such  circumstances  who  would 
care  to  own  a  city,  or  to  possess  in  fee  simple  the  cattle  on  a 
thousand  hills  ?     What  is  beef  going  to  be  worth  then  ? 

"  And  then  reputation.     When  the  earth  melts  and  the  sky 


ONE    FRANC.  603 

is  rolled  up  like  a  scroll,  where  is  your  Shakespeare  ?  Where 
is  Milton,  Byron,  Burns,  and  the  long  list  of  men  who  have 
written  that  their  names  may  be  everlasting?  The  dust  of 
Shakespeare  will  be  mingled  with  that  of  the  organ  grinder 
across  the  street,  and  the  pyramids  will  be  of  no  more  account 
than  the  dirt-heap  on  the  other  side,  which  the  Street  Commis- 
sioner never  moves  away.  The  hbraries  will  all  be  destroyed, 
and  in  the  general  annihilation,  clergymen,  scholars,  capitalists, 
life  insurance  agents,  presidents,  emperors,  book  agents  and 
tramps  will  all  stand  upon  a  common  level.  One  fragment  of 
me  may  assume  the  character  of  an  aerolite  and  astonish  the 
natives  of  another  planet,  and  another  fragment  may  go  to 
feed  the  sun  and  thus  furnish  heat  for  the  shivering  tramp  on 
Mars,  and  mingled  with  me  may  be  the  iron  that  is  now  in  the 
system  of  Yanderbilt. 

''  Therefore  1  have  no  desire  for  a  name  or  money.  Things 
are  not  sufficiently  permanent  to  be  desirable  for  an  ambitious 
man. 

"  But  speaking  of  the  great  cataclysm  that  is  imminent,  I 
did  not  hear  any  response  to  ray  application  for  a  loan  of  a 
dollar  to  relieve  my  hunger.  That  is  permanent,  and  will  be 
till  the  universal  smash-up." 

I  gave  the  man  a  franc. 

"It  is  little  but  it  will  do,  it  will  assuage  the  pangs  of 
hunger.  A  philosopher  needs  but  little.  Thank  you.  Fare- 
well forever.  In  the  smash  that  is  to  come,  let  us  hope  that 
our  fragments  may  come  together,  and  that  we  may  sail 
through  space  in  company." 

And  he  departed.  He  did  not  go  to  a  restaurant,  but  he 
went,  as  straight  as  the  bird  flies,  to  the  nearest  brandy  shop 
from  which  he  emerged  in  a  minute  with  his  face  illuminated. 
He  did  not  live  by  bread  alone. 

Strasburg  is  rich  in  antiquity,  rich  in  the  quaintest  old 
houses  on  the  continent,  houses  that  commence  inland  from  the 
sidewalk,  each  story  projecting  above  the  one  under  it,  the 
fronts  filled  full  of  carving  of  the  quaintest  and  most  curious 
description.  These  houses,  some  of  them,  count  the  years  of 
their  being  by  the  hundreds,  and  Strasburg,  sleepy  old  town 
that  it  is,  either  keeps  them  because  she  is  too  lazy  to  puU  them 


604  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

down,  or  because  she  really  treasures  them  because  of  their  age. 

An  American  looking  at  them  feels  that  time  has  gone 
backward  with  him,  and  that  he  has  awakened  in  the  four- 
teenth century. 

Here  you  see  the  genuine  Alsatian  costume.  The  women 
are,  as  a  rule,  fine-looking,  some  of  them  pretty,  and  the  style 
of  dress  fits  their  peculiar  style  of  beauty.  They  wear  immense 
bows  of  wide  black  ribbon,  which  stands  up  at  the  back  of  the 
head,  and  flares  out  at  the  sides  like  the  wings  of  a  wind-mill. 
This  admits  of  no  hat  or  any  other  head-gear,  and  its  effect, 
though  odd  at  first  sight,  is  rather  pleasing.  However,  any- 
thing looks  well  on  a  pretty  woman,  and  the  women  of  Alsace 
are  all  comely.  They  wear  their  gowns  short,  that  the  effect  of 
shapely  ankles  and  trim  feet  may  not  be  lost,  and  altogether 
they  are  good  specimens  of  feminity. 

The  pecuharity  of  the  old  houses  in  Strasburg,  already 
spoken  of,  is  greatly  intensified  by  the  huge  storks'  nests  that 
crown  the  large  awkward  chimneys  of  many  of  the  houses. 
All  Summer  long,  the  great  white  storks  five  in  Strasburg, 
until  the  cold  weather  drives  them  further  south.  Their  nests 
are  built  on  the  tops  of  chimneys,  of  rough  sticks  and  straw, 
and  are  very  clumsy-looking  affairs.  But  when  there  is  a  white 
stork  standing  in  them,  solemn  and  grave,  on  one  leg,  the  other 
drawn  closely  under  him,  the  effect  is  extremely  ludicrous. 

The  stork  is  a  peculiarly  Strasburgian  institution.  It  is 
considered  a  bad  omen  if  a  stork  leaves  a  house,  in  the  chimney 
of  which  he  has  once  built  his  nest,  and  misfortune  is  certain, 
so  they  believe,  to  follow  any  one  who  mistreats  or  offends  a 
stork. 

'  There  are  thousands  of  legends  about  them,  in  brief  the 
stork  figures  in  everything  Strasburgian.  It  is  said  that  about 
a  week  before  their  departure  in  the  Autumn,  all  the  storks 
meet  in  a  meadow  outside  of  the  city  and  hold  solemn  council, 
the  oldest  acting  as  chairman,  and  all  talking  and  discussing 
things  the  same  as  men  do,  in  their  own  language.  It  is 
not  said  that  they  come  to  blows  in  their  debates,  as  American 
Congressmen  do,  but  that  is  doubtless  because  they  know  only 
French  and  German  usages.     The  stork  is  a  weU  behaved  bird. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

BADEN    BADEX    AND    THINGS    THEREIN. 

At  one  time  Baden  Baden  was  one  of  the  most  famous 
gambling  places  in  the  world,  but  it  is  now  simply  a  fashion- 
able watering  place,  very  like  Saratoga.  It  is  beautifully 
situated  in  the  valley  of  the  Oos,  at  the  entrance  to  the 
Black  Forest.  During  the  time  the  gambhng  rooms  flourished, 
great  pains  were  taken  to  make  it  as  attractive  as  possible. 
Long,  ^Yide  avenues  were  laid  out  and  planted  with  beautiful 
trees,  picturesque  drives  were  made,  and  all  the  natural  advan- 
tages were  improved  a  thousand  fold,  so  that  to-day  it  is  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  spots  imaginable. 

The  buildings,  formerly  the  scenes  of  fashionable  riot  and 
dissipation,  were  built  in  the  most  elaborate  manner  and  most 
lavishly  decorated  with  beautiful  frescoes  by  most  eminent 
artists. 

Nature  made  Baden  Baden  a  natural  pleasure  and  health 
resort,  and  wherever  men  and  women  go  for  pleasure  or  health 
you  may  be  sure  of  meeting  vice  in  almost  every  form.  The 
pleasure  seekers  must  be  perpetually  stimulated,  and  those  who 
haunt  mineral  springs  to  recover  health,  generally  lost  by 
persistent  following  of  vicious  practices,  come  expecting  the 
waters  to  build  them  up  to  the  resumption  of  the  vices  that 
brought  them  down.     Consequently  they  gamble. 

A  few  years  ago  Baden  Baden  was  the  head  centre  of 
gambling  for  the  world.  The  Frenchman,  Englishman,  Ger- 
man, Eussian,  American,  Turk,  and,  for  that  matter,  men  of 
all  nations  came  here  to  drink  the  waters,  take  the  baths  and 
gamble.  Following  in  the  train  of  the  rich  invalids  came  the 
professional  gamblers,  hawks  following  pigeons  everywhere. 

The   government  gave  the  exclusive   right  to  manage  a 

(605) 


606 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


gambling  house  to  one  company,  or  rather  one  man.     Origin- 


THE  GREAT  HALL. 

ally  a  Frenchman  named  Benezet  had  it,  paying  some  forty 


A   FEW   LEGENDS.  607 

thousand  dollars  a  year  for  the  privilege  of  plucking  fools,  and 
when  he  died,  leaving  an  immense  fortune,  his  son-in-law, 
Dupressoir,  continued  the  business.  The  money  received  by 
the  government  for  this  privilege  was  appropriated  to  the 
beautifying  of  the  city  and  the  other  mineral  water  resorts  in 
the  Grand  Duchy. 

The  gambling  was  done  in  an  immense  building  which  is 
now  the  "  Conversation-haus,"  and,  if  its  walls  could  speak, 
many  a  tale,  comic  and  tragic,  they  could  tell. 

You  are  assailed  with  all  sorts  of  legends  concerning  it 
There  was  a  lady,  of  what  nationality  was  never  known,  a 
woman  who  commenced  gambling  at  the  age  of  thirty-six, 
who  always  came  to  the  rooms  closely  veiled,  whose  face  was 
never  seen.  She  played  so  much  money  invariably,  leaving 
the  rooms  when  she  had  lost  or  won  her  limit.  It  was  never 
ascertained  where  she  lodged,  even.  For  twenty  years  she 
came  to  the  rooms  twice  each  day,  staking  a  Napoleon  (four 
dollars)  on  each  turn  of  the  wheel  till  she  had  lost  or  won 
fifty,  and  when  that  loss  or  that  winning  was  accomplished  she 
glided  out,  only  to  reappear  the  next  day. 

There  is  a  wild  legend  prevalent  that  this  mysterious  being's 
lover  had  lost  his  fortune  at  the  tables,  and  had  blown  his 
brains  out  as  a  fitting  finish  to  his  folly,  and  that  there  was 
an  irresistible  impulse  that  brought  her  to  the  scene  of  his 
death,  and  kept  her  there  all  her  life. 

What  interested  Tibbitts  the  most  in  tliis  legend  was  the 
statement  that  the  lover  lost  all  his  money,  and  then  blew  out 
his  brains. 

"Any  man,  or  alleged  man,"  said  Tibbitts,  "who  would 
lose  a  fortune  at  such  a  game  as  they  played  here,  must  have 
great  faith  in  his  marksmanship,  to  try  to  hit  his  brains,  no 
matter  how  short  the  range." 

The  Young  Man  who  Knows  Everything  wanted  Tibbitts 
to  make  plain  the  point  to  the  remark,  and  then  the  Professor 
had  to  go  on  and  explain  that  what  Mr.  Tibbitts  intended  was 
that  a  man  who  would  gamble  at  all  must  have  an  infinitesi- 
mal brain,  so  small,  indeed,  as  to  make  it  safe  from  the  best 
marksman.  The  young  man  pondered  over  it  a  minute,  and 
expressed  himself  satisfied. 


€08 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


There  is  another  story  of  a  woman,  an  old  and  haggard 
woman,  who  came  every  day  and  staked  a  Napoleon.  She 
would  not  play  unless  there  should  be  in  the  room  a  child,  a 
joung,  fresh  child  ;  and  she  used 
to  take  the  baby,  and  put  her 
Napoleon  in  its  little  hand,  and 
have  it  place  it  on  the  black  or 
red,  as  the  child's  whim  dictated. 
And  it  is  said  that  she  generally 
won.       Like  all  the  rest  of  the 


THE  YOUNQ  MAN  WAITED  TIBBITTS  TO  MAKE  PLAIN  THE  POINT. 

mysterious  beings  of  the  gambling  hall,  this  eccentric  old  lady 
disappeared  one  day,  and  was  never  seen  again. 

It  made  little  difference  to  her  successors.      The  croupier, 


THE  REGULAR  LEGEND.  609 

that  calm,  impassive  man,  raked  in  the  l^apoleons,  or  raked 
them  out,  the  wheel  revolved,  and  the  life  or  death  of  one 
habitue  of  the  place  made  no  more  difference  than  a  footprint 
on  the  sands  of  the  sea. 

German  students  who,  by  extravagant  living,  encumbered 
themselves  with  debt,  and  who  were  afraid  to  apply  at  home 
for  more  money,  came  hither  to  make  enough  at  gambling  to 
restore  themselves.  They  never  did  it.  M.  Benezet  was  not 
paying  forty  thousand  dollars  a  year  rent  for  the  privilege  of 
running  a  game  at  which  improvident  and  extravagant  young 
men  could  make  up  their  folly  —  not  he.  His  game  was  to 
take  what  they  had  left,  without  knowing  or  caring  Avhat 
became  of  them  afterward. 

The  most  common  legend  of  them  all  is  of  the  young  man 
who  walked  calmly  into  the  room  with  one  hundred  J^apoleons, 
all  he  had  left,  and  staked  one  piece  after  another,  and  lost 
invariably.  Finally  there  was  but  one  left.  Turning  to  his 
friend,  he  remarked  calmly,  "  This  is  my  life  I  am  wagering." 
He  put  it  upon  the  black,  the  wheel  revolved,  he  lost. 

Without  a  word  this  calm  young  man  went  out,  and  hung 
himself  with  his  .handkerchief  to  a  tree,  where  his  inanimate 
body  was  found  the  next  morning. 

This  young  man  is  very  plenty  in  Baden-Baden,  though  not 
much  more  so  than  the  same  kind  of  a  fellow  who,  staking 
his  last  gold  piece,  draws  a  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and  shoots 
himself  at  the  table,  the  croupier  paying  no  attention  to  it,  and 
going  on  with  the  game  as  though  it  was  a  regular  part  of  it, 
and  an  everyday  occurrence. 

Tibbitts  frowned  upon  this  legend  severely,  holding  it  to  be 
unworthy  of  credence.  "The  young  man,"  said  Tibbitts, 
"  would  have  gone  out  and  pawned  his  revolver  for  ten  dollars, 
and  taken  another  hack  at  it." 

And  then  this  young  man  with  a  lively  imagination  went 
on  to  show  that  no  matter  how  desperate  the  situation  there  is 
always  a  chance  to  get  out.     His  story  was  to  this  effect : 

A  young  ]^ew  Yorker  had  gone  to  Paris  with  some  thou- 
sands of  dollars  given  him  by  his  indulgent  father,  that  he 
might  see  the  world  and  study  the  languages.  He  studied 
French  with  a  young  grisette  whose  acquaintance  he  had 
39 


610  NASBY    IN  EXILE. 

made,  and  a  very  pleasant  life  he  lived,  till  one  morning  the 
two  discovered  that  they  hadn't  a  dollar  between  them  left, 
that  he  had  spent  in  three  months  with  his  syren  what  was 
sufficient  to  have  supported  him  decently  for  three  years.  He 
dared  not  send  home  for  more  money,  he  could  not  leave  his 
friend  (that's  what  they  call  it),  and  they  had  not  enough  to 
buy  another  meal. 

The  pawn  shops  were  resorted  to,  till  everything  they  had 
was  gone  and  starvation  stared  them  in  the  face. 

They  wept  over  it,  and  finally  came  to  a  conclusion.  They 
loved  each  other  dearly,  they  could  not  live  apart,  and  so  they 
decided  to  die  together.  She  rushed  out  and  pawned  her  last 
pair  of  stockings  to  purchase  charcoal;  they  closed  all  the 
cracks  in  the  room  and  lighted  the  coal,  that  its  fumes  might 
kill  them  in  the  regular  Parisian  style. 

The  girl  died,  but  life  was  left  in  the  young  man.  He  rose 
and  broke  a  window  with  a  boot  —  no,  he  had  pawned  his 
boots  —  but  with  something,  anyhow,  and  let  in  fresh  air, 
which  saved  his  life. 

Then  he  turned  and  looked  at  the  poor  girl  on  the  bed,  her 
long  hair  flung  negligently  over  the  pillow,  her  face  not  wasted 
by  disease,  but  plump  and  fresh  as  in  life. 

"Poor  Fifine,"  he  sighed  in  agony ;  "how  beautiful  she  is, 
and  bow  I  loved  her  and  how  she  loved  me!  I  shall  never 
love  again.  From  this  time  out  my  life,  should  I  live,  will 
be  a  desert  waste.  Should  I  live?  Alas!  I  cannot,  will  not 
live.  Why  did  I  spring  from  that  couch  and  break  open  the 
window  ?     I  cannot  live  without  her ;  I  will  die  with  her." 

He  commenced  closing  the  window  and  looking  for  more 
charcoal,  when  something  occurred  to  him. 

"  Come  to  think,  I  won't  die  with  her.  Dying  with  her 
wouldn't  do  her  any  good,  and  if  I  live,  she,  my  love,  will 
perpetually  have  something  to  look  down  upon." 

He  merely  walked  down  and  reported  a  case  of  suicide,  and 
after  the  investigation  claimed  the  body  as  the  next  best  friend, 
which  was  all  right. 

Then  he  sold  the  body  to  a  medical  college  for  dissection, 
for  sixty  dollars,  and  bought  a  second-class  ticket  and  went 
home  to  New  York  and  told  his  mother  he  had  been  robbed  of 


THE  END  OF  THE  LEGEND  OF  PAEIS.  611 

his  money,  and  got  her  to  intercede  with  the  irate  father,  and 
is,  I  believe,  hving  in  comparative  luxury  to-day." 

'^  How  could  he  have  got  out  on  the  street,  if  he  had  pawned 
all  his  clothes  and  his  boots?"  queried  the  Young  Man  who 
Knows  Everything. 

Tibbitts  answered  with  asperity  that  there  were  so-called 
men  everywhere  in  the  world  who  perpetually  strewed  the  salt 
of  fact  over  the  flowery  fields  of  fancy.  "  You  are  the  young 
man,  I  believe,  who  made  me  miserable  the  other  day,  by 
unearthing  the  fact  that  there  never  was  a  William  Tell." 

•  The  Professor,  after  thinking  the  tale  over  awhile,  said  that 
such  a  thing  might  have  happened  in  Oshkosh,  but  never  in 
Paris.  In  Paris  the  young  woman  would  have  lived  and  sold 
the  body  of  the  young  man  and  started  a  cafe  on  the  proceeds. 

Then  the  young  man  remarked  that  revenge  was  a  fool's 
luxury,  and  that  the  J^ew  Testament  precept  about  turning  the 
other  cheek,  was  not  only  sound  in  religion,  but  was  the 
highest  good  sense,  as  religion  always  is.  To  nurse  a  hatred 
is  more  expensive  than  to  keep  a  horse  in  feed  or  a  fine  watch 
in  repair. 

The  gambling  came  to  an  end  finally,  and  the  romance 
of  Baden  Baden  with  it.  A  decree  withdrew  the  privilege  of 
the  establishment,  another  prohibited  the  establishing  of  other 
places,  and  on  one  fateful  night  in  1872,  at  twelve  o'clock,  the 
bankers  turned  off  their  lights,  and  Baden  Baden  as  a  gambling 
resort  was  no  more. 

The  old  gambling  house  is  now  called  the  Conversationhaus 
and  is  used  for  concerts  and  balls,  and  is  the  favorite  rendezvous 
for  the  fashionable  world,  especially  during  the  time  the  band 
plays,  in  the  morning,  afternoon  and  evening.  Then  the 
wealth  and  fashion  residing  in  Baden  and  representing  all 
nationalities  promenades  the  beautiful  avenues,  or,  making  little 
parties,  sips  beer  and  laughs  and  flirts  to  its  hearts'  content. 

Near  the  Conversationhaus  is  the  "  Trinkhalle,"  where 
invalids,  and  those  who  wish  to  be  thought  invalids,  drink  the 
famous  mineral  waters  that  have  made  Baden  celebrated  all 
over  the  world.  The  rooms  are  mag-nificentlv  furnished,  and 
on  the  arcade  in  front  of  the  buildins:  are  some  fine  frescoes 
illustrating  different  legends  of  the  Black  Forest. 


612 


NASBY   IN    EXILE. 


The  peculiar  waters  of  Baden  Baden  come  from  a  great 
many  springs  in  the  hill-sides,  and  are  conducted  to  the  various 
batliing  places  in  pipes,  and  they  are  as  hot  as  you  want  them. 


One  of  the  springs  Is  known  as  Hell  Spring,  because  of  the 
temperature  of  the  water,  one  Avould  suppose,  but  the  Badenese 
have  another  reason  for  its  name.  Of  course  they  have  a 
legend  for  it,  which  runs  thus : 


THE    LEGEND    OF    HELL    SPRING.  613 

A  great  many  centuries  ago  an  irascible  and  very  wicked 
old  man  who  possessed  the  ground  on  which  the  spring  is,  had, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  a  beautiful  and  supernaturally  good 
daughter.  By  the  w^ay,  I  never  could  understand  why  excess- 
ively wicked  men  in  legends  always  had  so  sweet  a  lot  of 
daughters,  but  I  suppose  it  is  necessary  in  order  to  have  legends. 

This  daugiiter  was  beloved  by  the  son  of  a  neighboring 
noble  who  was  at  feud  with  her  father,  and,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  the  old  man  opposed  the  match.  The  present  hot 
spring  was  then  as  cold  as  ice  and  a  most  delicious  water  for 
drinking,  of  which  the  old  man  was  very  fond,  which  state- 
ment proves  the  legend  to  be  false.  No  German  noble  in  thif; 
or  any  other  period  of  the  world's  history  ever  knew  whether 
the  water  on  his  estate  was  good  for  drinking  or  not.  He  may 
have  tested  it  for  other  purposes,  but  never  for  a  beverage. 
He  prefers  wine  or  beer. 

One  day  going  down  to  his  pet  spring  he  found  his  girl 
there,  and  with  her  her  lover.  He  was  enraged,  and  when  the 
young  man  told  him  he  loved  his  daughter  and  would  wed  her, 
he  exclaimed  with  a  horrible  oath : 

"  Wed  her !  You  may  wed  her  when  this  spring  is  as  hot 
as  hell,  and  when  that  happens  I  will  drink  to  your  nuptials  in 
its  waters ! " 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  The  spring  changed  from  its 
lovely  greenish  blue  to  a  sulphurous  and  salty  color.  Great 
jets  of  gas  with  an  unpleasant  smell  issued,  and  the  water 
boiled  up  quite  as  hot  as  the  place  the  profane  old  man  had 
indicated  as  a  standard.  And  Satan  himself,  with  tail  and 
hoofs,  and  everything  complete,  appeared,  from  where  none  of 
the  three  could  determine,  and  politely  handed  him  a  goblet  of 
the  boiling  water. 

lie  had  sworn  an  oath,  and  there  was  no  going  back  upon 
it.  So  he  took  the  goblet  and  swallowed  the  contents  and 
rolled  over  in  agony  and  died,  as  I  should  suppose  any  one 
would. 

The  young  man  married  the  girl,  and  I  doubt  not  his 
descendants  are  interested  in  the  bath  houses  supplied  from 
the  springs. 

It  isn't  much  of  a  legend,  indeed  with  a  little  practice  I 


614  KASBY    IN    EXILE. 

believe  I  could  write  a  better  one  myself,  but  it  is  as  tliey  gave 
it  to  me. 


THE  SWIMMING  BATH. 

The  grand  batiiing  houses  are  on  a  scale  of  magnificence 


UP   THE   MOUNTAIN".  615 

that  is  truly  wonderful,  and  one  almost  feels  like  shamming 
illness  simply  to  enjoy  their  luxury.  Nothing  that  money  can 
buy,  and  in  Europe  as  in  America,  it  will  buy  almost  anything, 
has  been  spared  to  make  them  as  attractive  to  the  eye  and  the 
other  senses  as  possible.  They  make  up  Baden's  stock  in 
trade,  and  Baden  is  too  good  a  merchant  not  to  have  attractive 
wares  for  sale. 

One  of  the  favorite  excursions  from  Baden  is  up  the  hill  to 
the  south  of  the  city  to  the  old  castle,  the  walls  of  which  are 
said  to  have  been  built  in  the  third  century,  when  the  Romans 
constructed  fortifications  here.  From  the  twelfth  century  till 
the  completion  of  the  new  castle  nearer  the  city,  the  old 
Schloss  was  the  residence  of  the  Margraves  of  the  Duchy. 

The  road  leading  to  the  castle  winds  up  the  Battert,  giving 
some  beautiful  views  of  the  valley,  with  Baden,  rich  with  its 
luxuriant  foliage,  nestling  at  the  foot  of  the  Black  Mountains, 
whose  dark  profile  stretches  away  off  far  to  the  north. 

Before  reaching  the  steep  portion  of  the  ascent,  the  ladies 
of  the  party  were  provided  with  donkeys. 

The  Professor,  whose  age  and  avoirdupois  rendered  steep- 
hill  climbing  a  matter  of  great  difficulty,  determined  that  he 
would  ride. 

A  diminutive  donkey,  scarcely  larger  than  a  good  sized 
JSTewfoundland  dog,  was  assigned  to  him,  and  a  most  ludicrous 
sight  it  was  as  the  party  made  its  start  up  the  hill. 

A  gentleman  six  feet  in  height,  with  very  long  legs  and  a 
remarkably  protuberant  abdomen,  arrayed  in  a  very  ill-fitting 
coat,  light  trowsers,  a  tall  hat,  and  enormous  spectacles,  with 
an  immense  cotton  umbrella  under  one  arm,  is  not  a  sight  to 
inspire  respect,  even  when  it  is  traveling  as  infantry. 

But  take  that  figure  and  put  it  astride  of  a  donkey  so  small 
that  the  rider's  legs  have  to  be  drawn  up  to  keep  the  feet  off 
the  ground,  and  have  that  donkey  a  perverse  and  mischievous 
animal  (most  of  them  answer  to  this  description),  and  it  is  about 
as  ludicrous  a  sight  as  was  ever  vouchsafed  to  mortal  ken. 

Each  donkey  is  led  or  driven,  as  the  case  may  be,  by  a  boy, 
and  the  Grerman  boy  has  all  the  elements  of  mischief  in  him 
that  any  other  boy  possesses.  And  so  when  this  especial  boy 
saw  that  the  entire  party  were  laughing  at  the  Professor,  he 


616 


KASBY    IN    EXILE. 


wisely  determined  to  gain  popularity  by  adding  to  the  merri- 
ment. And  so  he  would  wink  at  the  people  following,  and 
twist   the   donkey's   tail,   and  '^"■'^^*^i^5^g§il3Qiis^?5^ 

the  intelligent  animal,   know-  ^Sll 

ing  what  was  expected  of  him, 
would  kick  up  his  heels,  and 
the  Professor,  one  hand  busy 
with  the  bridle  and  the  other 
with  the  umbrella  under  his 
arm,  would  objurgate  as  much 
as  a  Professor  dared. 


THE  DONKEY  ENJOYED  IT  HUGELY. 

The  donkey  enjoyed  it  hugely,  for  he  kicked  up  his  heels 
with  delight,  and  pranced  from  one  side  of  the  road  to  the 
other  in  an  ecstacy  of  pleasure. 

The  portly  gentleman  didn't  seem. to  think  it  very  funny, 
although  at  last  he  was  compelled  to  join  in  the  general  laugh 
that  went  up  at  his  expense. 

Finally  he  beat  the  boy  and  the  donkey  both.  When  the 
donkey  would  kick  up  behind  he  simply  dropped  both  feet 
to  the  ground  an'd  brought  him  to  anchor;  and  when  he 
attempted  a  shy  to  one  side,  one  foot  on  the  ground  held  him 


TO    THE    ULD    SCULOSS. 


617 


to  his.  business ;  and  catching  the  boy  at  the  trick  he  took  him 
by  the  arm,  and,  with  a  grip  that  long  years  of  flagellating 
boys  had  perfected,  })ulled  him  up  in  front  of  him,  and  every- 
thing was  pleasant  again. 


As  we  toiled  up  the  long  hill  the  gathering  clouds  presaged 
a  rain  storm.  Then  they  broke,  and  as  we  reached  the  old 
ruin  the  sun  came  out  with  great  brilliancy,  and  gave  us  a 
magnificent  view  up  and  down  the  broad,  fertile  vallev. 

But,  unexpectedly,  before  we  had  time  to  go  through  the 
various  rooms  of  the  castle  the  rain  began  to  fall  in  torrents^ 


618 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


which  was  uncomfortable,  the  roof   having   long 
succumbed  to  time,  which  has  no  more  respect  for  a  margrave's 
castle  than  it  has  for  a  laborer's  hut.     Time  is  no  aristocrat. 

We  sought  shelter  in  a  room  that  had  been  fitted  up  as  a 
restaurant,  and  then  we  were  treated  to  a  genuine  storm  right 
from  the  Black  Forest.     The  wind  hoAvled  around  the  open 


PROMENADE  IN  BADEN-BADEN. 

spaces  of  the  ruined  walls,  the  rain  dashed  against  the  window 
panes  in  fitful  gusts,  while  above  all  other  sounds  could  be 
heard  the  creaking  and  moaning  of  the  trees  all  around  us,  as 
they  w^ere  bent  and  swayed  by  tlie  storm  It  required  but  a 
little  stretch  of  the  imagmation  to  fill  the  room  with  gallant 
knights,  and  to  believe  it  was  the  din  and  clatter  of  battle  we 
heard  without. 

We  were  sitting  on  the  ground  on  which  knights  and  ladies 
in  the  centuries  past  had  sat  and  feasted.  There  was  not  an 
inch  of  space  within  a  half  mile  of  us  that  had  not  its  story. 
Mailed  knights  in  that  very  room  had 

' '  Carved  their  meat  in  gloves  of  steel, 
And  drank  red  wine  with  their  visors  down." 

And  possibly  their  spirits  were  hovering  over  us.  If  they 
were,  we  did  not  know  it ;  they  did  not  materialize.  Instead 
of  the  mailed  knights  and  beardless  pages  and  fair  ladies  of 
the  middle  ages,  there  was  a  party  of  Americans  in  tall  hats 
and  short  coats,  ladies  in  the  latest  possible  Parisian  w^alking 
dresses,  and  instead  of  the  glorious  game  of  war  it  was  a 
simple   game  of  euchre,  which  the  men  played  with  the  same 


WAE    AND    CARDS. 


619 


earnestness  that  characterizes  them  at  home  in  their  business, 
and  the  ladies  with  that  utter  disregard  of  rule  that  charac- 
terizes feminine  card  playing  everywhere.     It  is  needless  to 


CHARCOAL  BURNERS  IN  THE  BLACK  FOREST. 

observe  that  in  the  matter  of  wine  the  example  of  the  old 
knights  was  followed,  only  we  had  no  visors. 

A  party  of   Americans  playing  cards  in  the  castle  of  a 


620  KASBY    IN    EXILE. 

warlike  king !  Well !  well !  There  are  steamboats  on  Locli 
Katrine ;  there  will  be  a  railroad  to  Jerusalem,  and  the  holy 
places  will  yet  be  illuminated  with  the  electric  light.  There  is 
no  room  to-day  for  sentiment. 

This  castle  was  built,  originally,  by  the  Romans,  and  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  Margrave  of  Baden  in  1112.  It  was 
necessary  in  that  day  to  have  these  strongholds,  from  which 
the  margraves  could  issue  and  make  war  upon  their  neighbors, 
that  being  their  principal  business.  It  was  continued  as  a 
residence  for  the  Baden  potentates  till  1689,  when  Louis  XY. 
of  France  demolished  it,  leaving  it,  less  the  ivy  that  has  grown 
over  it,  as  it  is  to-day. 

Its  principal  use  now  is  to  give  emplovment  to  the  donkeys 
to  get  to  it,  and  the  selling  of  wine  and  refreshments  to  the 
tourists  who  hunger  after  the  delightful  view  it  affords. 

The  new  Friedrichsbad  is  an  imposing  edifice  built  against 
the  hillside  upon  which  the  springs  are  located.  The  exterior 
is  a  fine  specimen  of  the  Renaissance  style  of  architecture, 
and  is  embelhshed  with  a  great  many  fine  statues,  busts  and 
medallions. 

The  interior  is  a  marvel  of  completeness  and  elegance, 
being  finer  in  all  its  details  than  any  similar  bathing  estab- 
lishment in  the  world.  The  wood  work  is  all  massive  and 
elegant;  the  walls  and  ceilings  are  artistically  frescoed;  the 
bath  tubs,  large  swimming  baths,^are  cut  out  of  solid  marble, 
and  are  so  arranged  that  the  bather  can  go  from  one  to 
another,  securing  any  desired  temperature  without  incon- 
venience. 

The  water  comes  from  springs  on  the  hillsides,  at  a  temper- 
ature of  144°  Fahrenheit,  and  is  conveyed  by  pipes  throughout 
the  building,  the  pipes  being  so  arranged  that  the  water  is 
gradually  cooled.  In  this  way  one  is  enabled  to  bathe  in  any 
kind  of  water  he  desires.  The  yield  is  upwards  of  one  hundred 
gallons  a  minute,  and  are  said  to  be  among  the  most  effica- 
cious mineral  springs  known,  the  solid  ingredients,  chiefly 
chloride  of  sodium,  amounting  only  to  three  per  cent. 

In  this  magnificent  structure,  there  are  the  common  bath 
tubs,  hewn  out  of  solid  blocks  of  marble  and  completely  let 
into  the  floor,  with  steps  leading  down  to  them;  large  hip 


BATHS    IN    BADEN.  621 

baths,  supplied  with  a  continual  Stream  of  mineral  water ;  an 
electric  bathroom  for  inhaling  the  thermal  water;  baths  for 
the  cold  water  treatment  and  the  cold  shower  baths;  vapor 
baths,  hot  air  baths,  swimming  baths  of  different  degrees  of 
temperature,  supplied  also  Avith  shower  baths  the  temperature 
of  w^hose  Avater  can  be  regulated  bv  the  bather,  and  vapor 
baths  in  boxes. 

After  taking  as  many  of  these  as  he  desires,  and  having  been 
rubbed  in  a  room  lurid  Avith  hot  air,  the  bather  is  conducted  to 
a  large  room  Avhere  he  is  euA^eloped  in  a  Avarm  bath  cloak. 
Then  he  is  taken  to  a  large,  luxuriously  furnished  room  where 
he  lies  doAvn  for  half  or  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 

When  he  emerges  from  the  building,  he  feels  like  a  new 
man  —  or  says  he  does,  Avhich  is  the  same  thing. 

When  The  Young  Man  Avho  KnoAvs  Everything  made  that 
remark,  Tibbitts  replied  promptly  that  he  most  earnestly  hoped 
the  change  Avould  be  permanent.  ^'  My  young  friend,  if  you 
feel  symptoms  of  getting  back  to  your  original  self,  take  more 
baths." 

Baden  merits  all  the  good  things  said  of  it.  It  is  a  delicious 
spot,  and  if  one  had  nothing  to  do  in  life  but  enjoy  it,  I  knoAV 
of  no  place  Avhere,  Avith  money,  he  could  get  more  out  of  it. 
Its  people  are  hospitable,  and  its  physicians  Avill  humor  you  to 
any  disease  you  choose.  If  there  is  nothing  the  matter  Avith 
you,  they  will  prescribe  just  as  cheerfully  as  though  you  had 
all  the  ills  that  human  flesh  is  heir  to,  and  Avill  pocket  their 
fees  with  a  grace  unexcelled.  They  have  had  vast  experience 
with  hypochondriacs,  and  knoAV  all  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


HEIDELBEKG. 


There  is  hardly  a  man,  woman  or  child  in  the  world  who 
has  not  heard  of  Heidelberg,  and  who  does  not  know  some- 
thing of  this  famous  little  city  of  students,  wine,  beer,  castle 
and  casks.  It  is  a  place  better  known,  probably,  than  any  in 
Europe  of  its  size  and  non-political  importance,  and  it  enter- 
tains more  sight-seers  than  any  other.  It  is  well  worth  the 
attention  given  it. 

Heidelberg  is  beautifully  situated  on  the  Eiver  ISTeckar, 
about  twelve  miles  from  its  junction  with  the  Rhine,  and  a 
more  delightful  spot  for  establishing  the  seat  of  a  palatial 
residence  does  not  exist  in  aU  Germany. 

On  the  one  side  is  a  high  range  of  hills,  on  the  other  the 
beautiful  Neckar,  the  opposite  bank  of  which  is  covered  to 
the  tops  of  the  lovely  hills  with  terraced  vineyards. 

The  very  first  thing  the  tourist  has  to  see  is  the  old  Schloss, 
founded  by  the  Count  Palatine  Rudolph  I.,  about  the  begin- 
ning of  the  fourteenth  century.  It  has  passed  through  remark- 
able events.  Various  princes  and  electors  improved  and 
fortified  the  original  structure  of  Rudolph,  until,  in  1720, 
when  Elector  Carl  Theador  rebuilt  it,  it  covered  a  vast  extent 
of  territory. 

Situated  on  a  spur  of  the  Ivonigestuhl,  it  is  surrounded  on 
three  sides  by  beautiful  woods,  while  on  the  fourth  the  River 
Neckar  flows  past  the  town  down  a  wondrously  beautiful 
valley,  and  loses  itself  in  the  Rhine,  twelve  miles  below.  The 
outside  walls  are  plain  and  unpretending,  being  designed 
entirely  for  defense.  But  inside,  the  facades  are  embellished 
with  fine  carvings,  allegorical  figures,  the  window  arches  having 
medallions  of  eminent  men  of  ancient  times.     In  niches  around 

(622) 


THE    OLD    SCHLOSS. 


62S 


the  front,  facing  the  entrance,  are  statues  of  the  sixteen  Counts 
Palatine.  This  front  is  thought  to  be  the  most  magnificent, 
architecturally,  of  any  of  the  four,  combining,  as  it  does,  four 


HEIDELBERG  CASTLE,   INSIDE  THE  COURT. 

different  styles :  Doric,  Tuscan,  Ionic  and  Corinthian.  It 
certainly  is  very  imposing,  and  before  it  was  battered  and 
disfigured  by  cannon  balls,  during  the  war  of  1693,  it  must 
have  been  a  wonderfully  fine  piece  of  work. 

The  regular  thing  to  do  at  Heidelberg  is  to  go  through  the 


624:  NASBT    IN    EXILE. 

great,  gloomy  subterranean  passages  that  wind  in  and  out 
under  the  massive  pile.  It  is  not  a  cheerful  trip,  but  it  gives 
one  a  good  idea  of  the  solidity  of  ancient  masonry,  and  of  the 
security  of  their  old  dungeons. 

The  Grand  Balcony  is  a  wide,  well-built  terrace  on  the 
river  side  of  the  castle.  From  thi^  point  the  view  is  magnifi- 
cent, the  whole  iSTeckar  valley  being  spread  out  like  a  map, 
below  us.  Then  we  go  on  through  great  rooms,  whose  ivy- 
covered  walls  once  resounded  with  song  and  merry  jest,  to  the 
huge  tower  at  the  eastern  angle  of  the  castle.  This  old  tower 
is,  or  was,  rather,  a  monster,  being  ninety-three  feet  in  diame- 
ter, with  walls  twenty-one  feet  thick.  In  1689,  when  the 
French  General,  Melac,  was  obliged  to  surrender  the  castle  and 
town  to  the  Germans,  he  blew  up  the  fortifications  and  set  the 
castle  on  fire.  The  attempt  to  demolish  the  tower  was  only  a 
partial  success.  The  walls  were  so  thick  and  so  Avell  built  that 
the  explosion  only  detached  about  a  half  of  it,  which  fell,  a 
solid  mass,  into  the  moat,  where  it  is  to-day,  as  solid  as  it  was 
two  centuries  ago,  though  now  its  rough  sides  are  covered 
with  shrubs  and  ivy. 

The  best  view  of  the  castle  in  its  entirety  is  from  the  Great 
Terrace,  quite  a  little  distance  from  the  garden  that  surrounds 
the  grand  old  ruin.  From  this  height  is  seen  the  beautiful 
valley,  with  the  town  spread  out  in  irregular  shape  on  the 
banks  of  the  Neckar.  Across  a  deep  ra\dne,  beautifully 
clothed  with  green,  is  the  ruined  castle,  standing  out  in  bold 
rehef,  the  ruined  tower,  the  dismantled  walls,  the  grand  prom- 
enade making  a  picture  of  rare  beauty. 

The  castle  is  decidedly  the  finest  structure  of  the  kind  in 
Europe,  beautiful  in  its  location,  beautiful  in  its  design,  and 
beautiful  even  in  its  ruin. 

Like  most  things  that  are  interesting  in  these  old  countries, 
it  is,  however,  a  remembrance  of  the  days  when  force  was  the 
only  law,  when  the  sword  and  the  spear  were  the  only  arbiters, 
and  he  who  had  command  of  the  most  of  them  was  the  ruler. 

It  has  had  many  masters.  In  1685  Louis  XIY.,  of  France, 
set  up  a  claim  to  the  country  and  invaded  it.  Of  course  he 
had  no  earthlv  right  to  it,  any  more  than  the  then  occupant, 
but  that  didn*t  matter.     They  didn*fc  split  hairs  in  those  days. 


THE    DESTRUCTION    OF    THE    CASTLE.  625 

When  a  king  wanted  an  adjoining  country  he  simply  figured 
up  how  many  cut-throats  he  had  and  how  many  cut-throats  the 
king  had  that  he  proposed  to  go  for,  and  if  he  had  more  cut- 
throats than  the  other  king,  why  he  went  for  him. 

And  so  Count  Melac,  Louis's  chief  cut-throat,  assailed  Heid- 
elberg, and  the  city  and  castle  capitulated  to  him.  He  occupied 
it  during  the  Winter  of  1688,  but  as  the  German  armies  were 
approaching  in  too  great  force  to  suit  his  notions,  in  March, 
1689,  he  evacuated  the  place,  having  first  blown  up  the  forti- 
fications and  burned  the  town,  and  made  what  havoc  he  could. 
Four  years  later  the  French  finished  the  destruction,  then  the 
Germans  rebuilt  it  in  part,  but,  as  if  fate  had  a  spite  against  it, 
it  was  struck  by  lightning  shortly  after  and  was  abandoned  as 
a  fortress  and  palace,  and  so  it  stands  to-day. 

Kuin  as  it  is,  it  is  the  most  wonderful  combination  of  nature 
and  art  I  have  ever  seen  or  ever  expect  to.  The  old  kings 
who  built  it  had  good  eyes  for  effect  as  well  as  defense.  The 
mountain  is  three  hundred  and  thirty  feet  above  the  river,  and 
it  is  a  precipice  inaccessible  except  by  winding  paths,  which, 
when  fortified,  an  hundred  men  might  hold  against  ten  thou- 
sand. This  before  the  days  of  rifled  guns.  Our  present 
artillery  would  knock  the  place  as  it  was  into  a  cocked  hat 
in  an  hour.  But  in  those  smooth-bore  days  it  was  a  place  of 
strength,  and  could  only  be  taken  by  a  systematic  siege. 

We  are  much  obliged  to  the  French  for  one  piece  of  van- 
dalism When  they  evacuated  it  the  last  time  they  tried  to 
blow  up  the  principal  round  tower.  They  placed  a  frightful 
amount  of  powder  in  it,  and  it  exploded,  but  so  well  had  the 
work  been  built  that  it  merely  broke  off  about  a  third  of  it, 
which  toppled  over  into  the  moat  and  still  lies  there  as  it  fell. 
The  walls  at  the  point  where  the  break  is,  are  twenty  feet  thick, 
and  are  as  solid  as  a  rock.  There  was  no  shoddy  in  this  work. 
There  needed  to  be  no  shoddy,  for  the  work  cost  the  Ehine  rob- 
bers who  built  it  nothing.  They  confiscated  the  quarries  for  the 
stone,  and  then  drafted  a  sufficient  force  of  men  from  all  parts 
of  their  dominions  to  do  the  work,  feeding  them  upon  black 
bread  and  sour  wine,  which  they  seized  also,  making  the 
building  of  almost  any  kind  of  a  castle  a  very  cheap  affair. 

It  is  a  curious  place  —  this  reminiscence"  of  the  past.    There 
40 


626 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


are  miles  of  halls,  of  passages,  secret  and  open;  there  are 
drawbridges  and  turrets,  and  posts  for  warders;  there  is  the 
enormous  terrace,  overlooking  the  beautiful  Neckar  and  the 
vine-clad  hills  on  the  opposite  bank;  there  is  the  wonderful 
court  in  the  interior,  the  walls  facing  inward,  rich  in  statuary 
and  wondrous  carving,  grandly  even  though  a  ruin. 

Imagine  this  vast  structure  when  it  was  itself,  filled  with 
knights  and  ladies,  on  the  night  of  some  festival !     Think  of  it, 

^c^  gleaming 
from  every 
window,  the 
terrace  filled 
with  happy 
dancers,  and 
the  immense 
court  full  of 
I  pleasure- 
seekers  ! 

There  have 
been  high 
jinks  in  the 
old  Schloss. 
It  must  have 
been  a  won- 
derful place 
for  everyone 
except  the 
wretched 
peasantry  — 
whose  unre- 

GREAT  CASK— HEIDELBERG  CASTLE.  Quited    laboi 

built  it,  whose  unrequited  labor  supported  it,  and  whose  bodies 
defended  it. 

It  is  well  that  it  is  in  ruins.  Its  walls  are  royal,  and,  the 
fact  is,  I  hate  everything  that  savors  of  royalty. 

In  the  castle  is  the  famous  tun  of  Heidelberg.  This  famous 
cask  is  twenty-six  feet  high  and  thirty-two  feet  long,  and  it 
holds,  or  rather  held,  for  it  has  not  been  filled  for  several  years^ 


THE    STUDENTS.  627 

eight  hundred  hogsheads  of  wine,  or  two  hundred  and  thirty- 
six  thousand  bottles.  There  is  a  platform  on  the  top  of  it, 
upon  which  a  cotillion  can  be  comfortably  danced. 

The  University  at  Heidelberg  has  in  course  of  preparation 
for  future  beer  drinking  some  eight  hundred  students,  from  all 
the  countries  of  the  world.  I  suppose  they  do  pay  some  atten- 
tion to  studies,  that  they  do  attend  lectures  and  recitations,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  all  I  saw  them  do  was  to  drink 
beer,  which  they  do  in  a  way  that  no  other  class  of  young  men 
in  the  world  can.  It  is  a  large  thing  in  Heidelberg  to  be  able 
to  drink  more  beer  than  any  one  else. 

Smoking  divides  tho  honors  with  beer,  although,  as  one 
student  can  smoke  about  as  much  as  another,  there  is  not  that 
opportunity  for  display  of  talent  that  there  is  in  beer  drinking 

The  students  are  all  in  societies  or  clubs,  and  each  club 
wears  a  cap  of  a  peculiar  color.  You  go  into  one  of  the  innu- 
merable beer  halls,  and  you  see  at  one  table  students  with  blue 
caps,  at  another  with  red,  and  another  with  yellow,  and  so  on. 
They  never  mix,  and  each  society  is  at  deadly  feud  with  all 
the  others.  They  sit,  and  sit,  and  sit,  at  these  tables,  drinking 
beer  out  of  mugs,  and  smoking  enormous  pipes,  mostly  meer- 
schaum, which  they  are  at  great  pains  to  color. 

As  a  red-capped  student  is  supposed  to  be  at  mortal  feud 
with  all  the  other  colored  caps,  duels  are  as  common  as  beer  — 
and  I  can't  say  more  than  that.  But  a  duel  in  Heidelberg  is 
not  a  remarkably  sanguinary  affair.  It  is  about  as  harmless  as 
a  French  duel.  They  don't  fight  with  revolvers  at  ten  paces, 
or  shot-guns  at  thirty,  or  sabres,  or  anything  of  that  sort ;  and 
instead  of  trying  to  kill  each  other,  every  possible  precaution 
•is  taken  not  to  kill  at  all.  The  weapons  are  rapiers,  very 
sharp,  and  ugly  enough,  if  the  duelist  really  meant  business ; 
but  both  contestants  are  so  swaddled  in  cloths,  so  wrapped  in 
cotton  defences,  that  any  harm,  aside  from  a  cut  in  the  face,  is 
impossible.  They  fence  and  thrust,  and  do  all  sorts  of  things, 
the  object  being  to  inflict  a  wound  upon  the  face;  and  the 
student  receiving  the  wound  is  very  proud  of  it,  and  if  his 
flesh  is  healthy  enough  to  heal  without  a  scar,  he  tears  it  open. 
The  scars  he  must  have,  for  they  are  testimonials,  as  it  were, 
of  his  bravery. 


628  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

So  you  see  on  the  streets  of  Heidelberg  any  number  of 
students  with  their  faces  scarred  and  seamed,  horribly  dis- 
figured, but  not  one  of  them  would  sell  a  scar  for  anything 
earthly. 

Their  beer-drinking  proclivities  I  have  referred  to.  Tibbitts 
had  a  letter  to  one  of  the  red-capped  students,  who  immedi- 
ately introduced  him  to  his  club,  and  the  result  was  —  beer. 
The  quantity  that  Lemuel  could  consume  nettled  his  friend, 
and  an  attempt  was  made  to  put  him  under  the  table.  Tiie 
Professor,  who  believes  that  there  is  a  devil  in  every  drop  of 
beer,  warned  Tibbitts  against  joining  the  party. 

"  They  will  get  you  intoxicated,"  said  the  good  old  man. 

"Will  they?  Perhaps  they  will.  But,  Professor,  a  young 
man  of  good  physique,  a  son  of  nature,  Avho  has  lived  in 
Oshkosh,  need  not  fear  any  man  who  comes  of  the  effete  civi- 
lization of  Germany.  Don't  fear  the  result  of  this  encounter. 
I  shall  do  credit  to  the  old  flag.  To  my  beloved  country  I 
dedicate  my  stomach.     I  will  fetch  them  all." 

And  so  Tibbitts  sat  down  with  them,  and  he  drank  as 
often  as  they  did  for  a  half  hour,  then  he  urged  the  drinking, 
and  he  called  for  larger  mugs. 

There  was  consternation  among  the  students.  Tibbitts' 
friend  was  the  President  of  the  club,  and  a  mighty  man  among 
the  beer  drinkers;  indeed,  he  owed  his  official  position  to  his 
prowess  in  this  line,  and  here  was  a  fresh  American  urging 
him  to  deeper  and  deeper  draughts. 

The  contest  waxed  warm.  One  by  one  the  feebler  men 
dropped  out  until  only  two  remained  —  Tibbitts  and  the  Presi- 
dent. Tibbitts  was  cool  and  collected,  the  President  was  hot 
and  fliirried. 

Tibbitts  made  the  President  understand  that  he  wanted 
larger  mugs.  He  explained  that  he  was  thirsty,  and  that  the 
time  consumed  in  bringing  the  small  mugs  (they  held  nearly  a 
quart)  was  so  much  waste,  and  that  the  effect  of  one  quencher 
(lied  out  before  another  could  be  brought.  What  he  wanted 
was  a  mug  that  held  some  beer.  He  was  not  a  baby,  but 
a  man. 

And  so  mugs  were  brought  about  twice  the  size  of  those 
they  had  been  using.     Tibbitts  touched  his  opponent's  mug  in 


MK.    TIlililTTS    AND    THE    STUDENTS. 


629 


good-fellowship,  after  the  custom,  and  putting  his  lips  to  it 
drank  it  off  at  one  pull,  and  tapped  on  the  table  to  have  it 
re-filled,  to  the  delight  of  the  other  colored  caps,  and  the 
dismay  of  the  reds.  The  President  smiled  in  a  sickly  sort  of 
way  and  drank.  He  finished  the  mug,  and  leering  wildly 
around  the  room,  made  a  feeble  attempt  to  get  his  pipe  to 
his  mouth,  reeled  and  fell  prostrate.  He  was  vanquished,  and 
his  friends  bore  him  senseless  from  the  floor. 

"The  idea  of  a  mere  German  attempting  to  drink  with  a 
man  who  was  weaned  on  Oshkosh  whisky,"  said  Tibbitts,  con- 


MR.  TIBBITTS  AND  THE  STUDENTS. 

teraptuously.     '^  I  am  now  just  in  humor  to  tackle  the  Yice- 
President,  Secretary  and  Treasurer  of  this  Club,  all  at  once." 

He  did  not,  however,  for  they  were  all  gone.  But  the 
honor  of  America  was  saved  —  according  to  the  notion  of 
Tibbitts. 


630 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


A  curious  place  is  the  famous  restaurant  on  Haupstrasse, 
which  for  many  years  has  been  the  resort  of  the  University 
student.  Here  he  sits  and  drinks  his  beer  at  a  table  that  is 
literally  covered  with  the  names  of  students  carved  in  the  solid 
oak.  Many  of  the  names  there  engraved  are  now  known  the 
world  over,  though  when  they  were  cut  there,  many  decades 
ago,  the  youthful  carvers  were  great  in  literature,  science  or 
art,  only  in  the  dreams  of  their  early  manhood. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


AN   INLAND    GERMAN    CITY MANNHEIM. 


,  It  was  comfort  to  get  out  of  the  beaten  routes  of  tourists, 
and  find  yourself  in  a  city  where  you  do  not  hear  English,  and 
where  the  sight-seer  with  the  inevitable  guide  book  and  field- 
glass,  does  not  display  himself.  It  was  a  relief  to  get  into  a  city 
that  had  not  been  half  Anglicised  and  Americanized  by  the 
constant  stream  of  tourists  that  pour  over  Europe  every  Sum- 
mer, where  you  could  see  Germany  and  the  Germans,  pure  and 


MANNHEIM. 


simple.  Such  a  place  is  Mannheim,  at  the  confluence  of  the 
Rhine  and  T^eckar,  twelve  miles  below  Heidelberar. 

Mannheim  is  a  dehcious  old  city,  once  the  seat  of  the  grand 
Dukes  of  Baden,  but  now  the  seat  of  what  is  a  great  deal  better 
than  grand  dukes,  much  merchandising  and  manufacturing. 
It  is  the  only  city  in  Europe  that  is  laid  out  like  Philadelphia, 
in  regular  squares. 

The  principal  pride  of  the  Mannheimers  is  their  theater,  and 
the  Mannheimers  have  every  reason  to  be  proud  of  it,  for,  in 
addition  to  its  being  one  of  the  best  conducted  in  Europe,  it  is 

(631) 


632  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

where  Schiller  and  other  great  German  poets  won  their  first 
successes. 

The  Germans  amuse  themselves  at  public  cost  whenever 
possible.  For  instance,  this  beautiful  theater,  which  contains 
costumes  and  stage  sets  for  all  the  standard  operas,  is  supported 
by  the  city  government.  There  is  a  small  fee  for  admission,  (I 
believe  the  most  expensive  seat  in  the  house  is  a  trifle  less  than 
a  dollar,  and  ranging  down  from  that  to  ten  cents),  but  the 
deficiency  is  put  upon  the  tax  duplicate  and  paid  the  same  as 
other  taxes. 

ISTowhere  in  Europe  are  better  performances  given,  either 
operatic  or  dramatic.  The  principal  characters  are  assigned 
to  artists  of  the  very  highest  order,  the  orchestra  is  made  up 
of  picked  musicians,  every  one  a  soloist,  and  the  chorus  is  not 
that  mass  of  associated  howlers  that  drive  us  mad  in  America ; 
but  the  members  are  trained  singers,  as  well  as  actors. 

For  the  presentation  of  Wagner's  ''Lohengrin"  there  was 
an  orchestra  of  fifty-eight  in  number,  a  chorus  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty,  and  as  many  more  supernumeraries.  !N'owhere  is 
the  detail  of  a  presentation  so  carefully  and  conscientiously 
worked  out,  and  nowhere  an  opera  more  satisfactorily  given 
than  in  this  little  German  city  of  less  than  fifty  thousand. 
The  singers  enter  into  a  contract  with  the  Direction  for  a 
term  of  years,  and  if  they  sing  or  act  the  full  term  they  may 
go  elsewhere,  but  they  are  pensioned  by  the  city  for  life. 
Their  salaries  are  very  small,  but  the  resultant  pension  is  so 
comfortable  a  thing  that  they  never  break  their  engagements 
and  never  do  slovenly  work. 

The  Sunday  night  we  reached  Mannheim,  Wagner's  ''Lohen- 
grin" was  given,  the  performance  commencing  at  half -past  five 
in  the  afternoon  and  continuing-  till  eleven  at  night.  It  was 
not  as  in  American  opera  houses.  There  wasn't  a  note 
omitted,  a  song,  or  line  of  text  cut ;  the  entire  opera  as  it  came 
from  the  composer  was  given  with  a  degree  of  conscientious 
care  that  the  American  party  had  never  heard  before. 

Tibbitts  was  in  a  state  of  surprise  all  the  time.  First  going 
to  an  opera,  not  a  matinee,  in  davlight ;  and  then  another 
custom  that  was  as  novel  and  strange  as  the  hour  at  which 
the  performance    began.      After  entering    the   vestibule  we 


OPERA    IN    MANNHEIM. 


633 


passed  through  a  long  hallway  lined  with  shelves  ;  on  these 
shelves  the  gentlemen  placed  their  hats,  overcoats,  canes  and 
umbrellas,  and  then  passed  into  the  auditorium  without  getting 
any  check  for  the  articles  so  left. 

''  Imagine,"  said  Tibbitts,  "  an  American  theater  with  a  free 
cloak  room  in  the  lobby !  How  many  hats,  coats  and  walking 
sticks  would  be  left  by  the  time  the  entertainment  was  over  ? 
Think  of  such  a  thing  in  New  York,  or  even  Oshkosh !  Why, 
in  Oshkosh  the  boys 
out  of  one  such  audi- 
ence would  supply 
themselves  with  over- 
coats, hats  and  um- 
brellas for  a  year.  It 
is  a  tenaptation  even 
to  me,  as  well  as  I 
have  been  brought 
up." 

The  opera  of  Lo-  Hf^^, 
hengrin  is  extremely 
difficult  to  render, 
but  in  this  little  Ger- 
man town  of  only 
forty- seven  thousand 
inhabitants,  it  was 
done  in  a  manner  that  would  surprise  the  grand  opera  goers  of 
New  York,  or  even  Paris  or  London.  The  stage  settings  were 
magnificent,  every  detail  being  most  carefully  and  faithfully 
attended  to. 

Wagner's  music,  to  be  fully  appreciated  and  enjoyed,  must 
be  heard  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances  —  at  the 
Mannheim  Court  Theater,  for  instance.  There  is  an  individu- 
ality about  it,  an  expression  of  thought  by  sound,  that  has 
never  been  equalled  by  any  other  composer.  And  when  per- 
formed by  such  a  company  as  that  at  Mannheim  it  rises  to  the 
sublime.  Every  member  of  that  great  company  from  the  star 
down  to  the  most  humble  member  of  the  orchestra,  was  a 
thorough  artist,  and  having  had  the  very  best  training  they 
interpreted  the  divine  work  of  the  great  master  in  the  same 
spirit  in  which  it  was  conceived.     It  was  a  rare  performance. 


TIBBITTS  IN  THE   CLOAK   ROOM. 


^34  NASBY    m    EXILE. 

Tannhauser  was  the  next  opera,  and  performed  as  carefully 
as  Lohengrin.  It  was  enjoyed  by  the  entire  party  except  Tib- 
bitts.  He  is  not  musical  or  asthetic.  And  so  when  the  Young 
Man  who  Knows  Everythino^  went  into  raptures  over  the 
Avonderful  orchestra,  Tibbitts  spoke  of  it  contemptuously  as 
^' sound  factory."  And  he  jeered  at  the  procession  of  pilgrims 
who,  in  the  opera,  are  returning,  to  delicious  music,  from  Eome, 
w-here  they  had  been  for  their  sins.  "Yes,  that's  the  way  of 
it.  They  load  up  with  iniquity  and  go  to  Eome,  if  they  are 
Catholics,  or  somewhere  else  if  they  are  of  other  beliefs.  Then 
they  come  back  as  good  as  new  and  entirely  ready  to  take 
another  load." 

He  criticised  other  points  in  the  opera.  Tannhauser  was  in 
despair  at  having  committed  the  unpardonable  sin  of  heathen 
worship.  "  You  see  how  it  is.  Other  sinners  who  had  merely 
committed  murders  and  sins  Kke  that,  made  a  pilgrimage  to 
Rome  and  were  absolved,  but  Tannhauser  knew  better.  Eeli- 
gious  power  forgives  everything  except  joining  the  opposition 
shop."  And  he  was  particularly  severe  upon  Tannhauser  for 
confessing  his  sin  to  his  love.  "  For,"  he  continued,  "  had  he 
kept  it  to  himself  it  would  have  been  just  as  well.  But  I  sup- 
pose it  had  to  be.  Had  Tannhauser  kept  his  counsel  and  mar- 
ried the  girl,  the  opera  would  have  closed  at  the  second  act." 

Mannheim  is  a  purely  commercial  and  manufacturing  town. 
It  enjoys  a  most  picturesque  situation.  It's  streets  are  regular 
and-  handsome,  and  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city  are  numerous 
pretty  parks,  which  add  greatly  to  the  beauty  of  the  place. 

"When,  in  1821,  the  Elector,  Charles  Philip  had  ecclesiastical 
differences  with  the  Protestant  citizens  of  Heidelberg,  where 
up  to  that  time  he  had  his  court,  he  transferred  the  seat  to 
Mannheim,  which  from  that  time  became  an  important  place. 
The  town  was  founded  in  1606,  and  destroyed  by  the  French 
eighty-three  years  later. 

During  the  residence  there  of  Charles  Philip,  the  spacious 
castle,  which  occupies  the  entire  southwestern  portion  of  the 
town,  was  built,  and  though  it  suffered  partial  destruction  in 
1T95,  it  has  been  restored,  and  with  the  lovely  grounds  sur- 
rounding it,  forms  one  of  the  most  attractive  spots  in  Mannheim. 

In  appearance  Mannheim  is  quite  modern,  though  some  of 
its  buildings  bear  the  impress  of  tlie  hand  of  time.     But  as  a 


THE    DIFFERENCE    IN    PEOPLE.  635 

rule,  its  Avealthy  citizens,  with  the  enterprise  and  go-ahead 
activity  that  characterizes  a  mercantile  people,  have  erected 
solid  substantial  buildings  of  the  most  approved  modern  style, 
which  gives  the  city  the  look  of  wealth  and  business  success  it 
possesses. 

The  theater,  next  to  the  castle,  is  probably  the  oldest  build- 
ing in  the  town.  It  was  constructed  during  the  last  century, 
and  restored  in  1854. 

The  people  of  Mannheim  are  industrious,  hard-working 
Germans,  full  of  enterprise  and  business  tact.  During  busi- 
ness hours  they  are  always  on  duty,  but,  with  the  purely 
German  characteristic,  as  soon  as  business  is  over  they  devote 
themselves  to  innocent  amusement  with  as  much  gusto  as  they 
do  to  their  work  during  the  day.  And  the  German  citizen  is 
not  selfish  in  his  enjoyments.  He  wants  his  whole  family  to 
partake  of  them  with  him.  So  in  the  evening,  in  the  parks 
where  the  bands  play,  you  will  see  him  surrounded  b}^  his 
whole  family,  wife,  daughters  and  sons,  sipping  beer,  chatting 
with  friends,  and  enjoying  the  music.  They  are  a  social  lot 
of  people,  these  Germans,  and  know  full  well  how^  to  get  all 
the  pleasure  there  is  in  life. 

They  differ  materially  from  the  French  and  the  English. 
The  French  are  full  of  life  and  vivacity  that  spur  them  up  to 
an  unusual  state  of  activity  all  the  time.  They  must  have  a 
constant  excitement,  and  noise,  and  show,  or  they  are  miser- 
able. He  is  the  most  generous  man  in  speech  and  the  closest 
man  in  action  in  the  world.  He  is  effusive.  He  w^ill,  on  a 
steamer,  embrace  you  at  parting,  and  insist  upon  your  making 
his  house  your  home  when  you  visit  Paris.  He  will  swear  that 
he  w^ill  devote  his  whole  time  to  you,  that  he  will  take  it  as  a 
mortal  affront  if  you  do  not  command  him,  and  all  that.  But 
don't  take  too  much  stock  in  it.  He  doubtless  means  it  while 
he  is  saying  it,  but  when  he  reaches  Paris,  and  you  find  him 
there,  it  is  quite  another  thing.  You  are  not  necessary  to  his 
happiness  any  more,  and  in  the  most  adroit  and  suave  way  he 
gets  rid  of  you,  and  forever. 

Very  like  people  the  world  over,  however.  The  man  who 
applauds  a  virtuous  sentiment  the  most  vehemently  at  a  theater 
is  the  very  fellow  w^ho  wall  go  home  and  kick  his  wife,  and  the 


6S6  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

wildest  approver  of  patriotic  sentiments  is  the  very  man  who 
goes  to  Canada  to  avoid  a  draft,  or  jumps  the  bounty  for  a 
thousand  dollars.  The  Frenchman  makes  the  best  outward 
show  of  any  one  in  the  world,  but  his  goodness  is  very  thin. 
It  will  not  bear  the  solid  weight  of  actual  use. 

The  Englishman  delights  in  what  he  is  pleased  to  thinlv 
dignity,  but  what  is  really  overweening  conceit.  He  is  pom- 
pous, dull  and  heavy.  If  he  does  a  good  thing,  he  does  it  m 
such  a  way  as  to  make  it  an  offense. 

The  German  is  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  He  goes 
through  life  tranquilly,  in  perfect  content  with  himself,  always 
making  the  best  of  his  opportunities,  and  in  a  perfectly  rational 
way  getting  all  the  enjoyment  he  possibly  can. 

He  does  not  profess  to  be  your  friend  unless  he  is  so  in  good 
faith,  and  when  he  invites  3^ou  to  his  house  he  always  means  it. 
He  is  rather  careful  about  his  friendships,  for  as  he  never  falsi- 
fies in  this,  he  needs  to  be,  but  when  once  said  it  is  done.  A 
rare  good  man  to  meet  is  your  German.  He  has  his  peculiar- 
ities, but  he  is  good  and  solid  all  the  way  through. 

In  Mannheim,  as  in  all  German  communities,  the  absurd 
American  fashion  of  treating  is  most  sternly  discountenanced 
and  tabooed.  The  true  German  will  not  have  it  at  all,  at  any 
price.  Your  friend  asks  you  to  join  him  in  a  bottle  of  wine, 
and  you  accept,  but  that  does  not  mean  that  he  pays  for  your 
drink.  Not  at  all.  He  desires  you  to  join  him  because  you 
are  his  friend,  because  he  likes  your  society,  and  because  he 
wants  to  talk  to  you  and  have  3^ou  talk  to  him.  And  when 
the  bottle,  or  three,  as  a  German  says,  is  consumed  each  pays 
for  what  he  has  had  and  they  go  their  way. 

Consequently  the  bar-room  beat  so  common  in  America  is 
an  unknown  institution  in  Germany,  and  the  beery,  bloated 
pimpled  faces  hanging  around  public  places  waitmg  for  invi- 
tations are  never  seen. 

Mr.  Tibbitts  most  heartily  approved  of  this  custom.  He 
remarked  that  the  American  system  of  treating  came  very 
nearly  ruining  him.  In  Oshkosh  he  had  a  very  large  circle  of 
close  friends,  who  loved  him  dearly.  They  were  very  fond  of 
him,  why,  he  would  not  say,  because  he  was  a  modest  man.  It 
might  have  been  that  they  admired  his  physical   graces,  or 


A    TREATISE    ON    TREATING.  637 

possibly  his  intellectual  endowments  —  men  have  tastes  that 
cannot  be  accounted  for.  I  met  one  gentleman  on  this  trip 
who  admired  the  Young  Man  who  Knows  Everything ;  that 
is,  he  said  he  rather  liked  him. 

He  was  studying  law  in  Oshkosh,  and  after  wrestling  all 
the  forenoon  with  his  studies  he  was,  naturally,  mentally  as 
well  as  physically  exhausted. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Tibbitts,  "  when  a  young  and  enthu- 
siastic student  at  law  has  been  poring  all  day  over  the  pages 
of  Walter  Scott,  oi'  Dickens,  or  Thackeray,  with  only  an  occa- 
sional intermission  at  a  beer-shop  across  the  street,  without 
feeling  something  like  a  squeezed  lemon,  he  is  a  strong  man 
indeed.  I  am  physically  fragile,  and  my  active  mental  nature 
makes  fearful  drains  upon  my  body. 

"  And  so  on  my  way  to  my  boarding  house  for  dinner  I  was 
accustomed  to  stop  over  a  minute  at  the  Spread  Eagle  Hotel, 
to  take  one  solitary  cock-tail,  which  I  really  needed  as  a  bracer, 
as  it  were,  to  the  system;  something  that  would  encourage 
nature  to  the  point  of  taking  in  a  full  meal,  a  meal  that  would 
hold  me  up  to  the  work  of  the  afternoon. 

"Now  here  is  where  the  infernalism  of  the  American 
system  comes  in.  There  would  be  at  the  bar  every  day  at  the 
same  hour  seven  fellows,  all  good,  jolly  men,  all  particular 
friends  of  mine,  who  came  there,  as  I  did,  for  just  one  drink. 
Now,  understand,  I  went  in  there  for  one  drink,  which  I  felt  I 
needed,  and  one  drink  onl}^.  But  seeing  the  other  seven  in 
classical  poses  about  the  bar,  I  could  do  no  less  than  to  ask 
them  to  join  me,  which,  in  the  freshness  of  youth  and  the 
first  blush  of  a  strong  manhood,  they  always  did  promptly. 
After  a  minute  of  joyous  conversation,  Snedeker  would  wink 
at  the  barkeeper,  who  would  set  before  us  another.  More  talk, 
a  little  more  cheerful  than  before,  and  "Wilson  would  insist 
upon  all  drinking  with  him.  Still  more  talk,  and  Adams 
would  consider  it  an  offense  if  we  did  not  take  just  one  more 
with  him. 

"  By  this  time  any  one  of  us  would  have  taken  something 
with  anybody,  for  good  sense,  that  faithful  though  easily  over- 
come sentinel  over  our  passions,  had  been  driven  out,  and  we 
were  on  the  high  road  to  inebriety.      And  there  we  would 


638  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

stand,  and  stand,  taking  '  just  another  one,'  till  we  had  for- 
gotten all  about  dinner  and  everything  pertaining  to  life, 
except  of  that  article  contained  in  the  bottles  before  us. 

"  I  have  known  these  incidents  to  cover  a  great  space  of 
time  and  much  territory.  I  have  gone  into  the  Spread  Eagle 
for  just  one  cock-tail,  and  in  consequence  of  the  infernal  Amer- 
ican system  of  treating,  have  found  myself  a  day  or  two  later 
in  St.  Louis,  paying  a  most  recklessly  incurred  hotel  bill  from 
money  obtained  by  pawning  my  watch  and  overcoat.  And 
once  I  extended  the  excursion  as  far  as  ]^ew  Orleans,  and 
probably  would  have  gone  on  through  Mexico  if  delirium 
tremens  had  not  kindly  put  in  an  estopper. 

"  If  we  did  in  America  as  they  do  in  Germany  I  should 
have  gone  in  and  taken  one  cock-tail  and  gone  to  my  dinner 
and  returned  to  my  studies,  and  gone  home  to  my  supper  and 
have  been  a  good  and  useful  citizen." 

And  Tibbitts  having  got  fairly  launched  upon  the  wide 
ocean  of  drinking  continued : 

"Americans  are  fools  in  their  way  of  drinking.  All  other 
peoples  have  a  defined  idea  of  what  they  want  to  accomplish 
with  stimulants,  but  the  American  has  not.  Your  Englishman 
wants  to  get  stupid  drunk ;  he  wants  f orgetf Uiness,  which  I 
can't  blame  him  for.  Were  I  living  in  England  I  should  want 
forgetfulness  in  large  doses.  I  don't  blame  an  Englishman, 
condemned  to  London  climate  and  London  customs,  for  drink- 
ing. The  Frenchman  and  German  drink  just  enough  to 
produce  the  requisite  hilarity,  the  general  good  feehng  which 
light  stimulants  in  moderation  produces,  and  then  they  quit. 
An  American  does  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  drinks  through  all 
the  stages,  the  slightly  exhilerant,  the  mild  hilarious,  the  bois- 
terous idiotic,  the  brutally  quarrelsome,  the  pitiful  maudlin, 
and  then  slips  off  his  chair  harmless  because  helpless. 

"Why,  I  have  heard  a  nine-tenths  drunken  man  rouse  up 
his  companion  by  shaking  him,  with  the  appeal:  'Jimmy, 
rouse  up!     Can't  you  stand  another  one?' 

"Just  think  of  it!  In  this  fellow's  case  there  was  no 
pleasure  to  be  had  from  the  drinking  of  '  another  one.'  His 
poor,  outraged  stomach  rebelled  against  it,  the  very  smell  of  it 
was  death,  and  the  taste  worse  than  death,  and  yet  he  was 


WHY    MR.    TIBBITTS    WAS    NOT    A    TEMPERANCE    LECTURER.      63^ 

asked  if  he  could  not  endure  'another  one!'  He  was  asked  if 
his  abused  system  could  not  be  further  outraged.  And  he  did 
manage  to  stagger  up  to  the  bar  and  swallow  another  dose  of 
poison,  which  was  the  last  straw  that  broke  the  camel's  back. 
His  indignant  stomach  deposited  it  on  the  floor  with  great 
promptness.  A  moment's  rest,  and  he  did  take  '  another  one,' 
and  subsided  into  a  miserable  sleep. 

"  i  have  seen  so  much  of  the  infernalism  of  the  American 
treating  system  that  I  could  deliver  a  wonderful  lecture  upon 
that  and  kindred  temperance  subjects." 

"Why  don't  you  lecture  on  temperance?"  asked  one  of  the 
party. 

^'Alas!  I  am  not  a  reformed  drunkard,"  was  Tibbitts  reply. 

Then  up  spoke  the  Young  Man  who  Knows  Everything. 

"  My  dear  sir,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  reform." 

Tibbitts  disdained  to  answer  this,  and  walked  moodily  away. 


MAYENCE. 


LUTHER'S  HOUSE. 


We  had   a 
great   deal  of 
RoMER.  trouble  to  get 

out  of  Mannheim.  All  German  railroad  officials  are  in  uniform, 
and  the  regulations  are  about  as  strict  in  the  railroad  service 
as  in  the  military.  The  train  we  were  compelled  to  take  left  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  we  were  at  the  station  promptly. 
That  is,  we  had  four  of'five  minutes  in  which  to  get  our  tickets, 
see  to  our  baggage  and  go  on.  We  hurried  to  the  little  win- 
dow in  the  ticket-office,  but  it  was  down.  Through  the  win- 
dow we  could  see  the  official  in  an  ordinary  coat,  and  we 
knocked  on  the  glass.  He  did  not  open  it,  but  sat  there,  nerv- 
ously consulting  his  watch.  The  minutes  were  rushing  on, 
tumbling  over  each  other  with  frightful  rapidity.  But  still  he 
did  not  open  the  window,  and  we  were  ticketless,  and  the  train 
was  within  a  minute  of  departure. 

What  was  the  matter  ?    Why  simply  this :  The  ticket  agent 

(640) 


RED-TAPE.  641 

had  sent  his  uniform  coat  out  to  be  brushed  and  the  boy  had 
not  returned  with  it.  He  would  no  more  thinlc  of  selhng  a 
ticket  except  with  that  blue  coat  on,  buttoned  up  to  the  chin, 
and  with  every  button  there,  than  he  would  have  thought  of 
cutting  off  his  right  hand.  It  mattered  not  that  passengers 
were  waiting,  it  mattered  not  that  the  engine  was  whisthng  its 
last  warning  notes,  that  coat  was  not  brushed  and  on  the  offi- 
cial's back,  and  no  tickets  could  be  sold  till  it  w^as. 

Fortunately  the  boy  came  w^ith  the  coat,  the  official  got  it 
on  somehow,  the  train  waited  two  or  three  minutes,  tickets 
were  sold  hurriedly  and  ^ye  did  get  away. 

What  would  have  happened  if  the  boy  had  not  come  back 
with  the  coat  at  all,  no  one  can  answer. 

Certainly  no  one  would  have  got  tickets  till  he  got  his  coat, 
and  we  should  all  have  missed  our  train. 

Red-tape  is  a  great  institution,  and  noAvhere  do  you  see 
more  of  it  than  in  Germany.  But  we  got  away  finally  to 
Frankfort. 

Contrasting  strangely  with  Mannheim's  straight  streets  and 
quiet  unpretentious  business  blocks,  is  the  very  peculiar  city  of 
Frankfort,  where  within  a  stone's  throw  of  each  other  are 
streets  so  entirely  different,  that  in  one  you  may  imagine  your- 
self on  Broadway,  wdiile  in  the  other  you  may  with  equal  pro- 
priety consider  yourself  set  back  five  or  six  hundred  years. 

Kew  Frankfort  is  the  newest  city  I  know  of.  It  is  more 
fresh  and  recent  than  Broadway.  It  is  very  hke  Broadway, 
except  that  its  buildings  are  less  garish,  and  more  solidly  built. 

The  line  between  the  old  and  the  new  is  only  a  street,  and 
the  old  is  the  oldest  in  Europe,  as  the  new  is  the  newest.  The 
contrast  is  wonderful.  It  is  the  fourteenth  century  and  the 
nineteenth  shaking  hands  across  the  chasm  of  time.  It  is  the 
mediaeval  knight  and  the  London  exquisite  side  by  side.  The 
same  may  be  seen  in  all  European  cities,  but  nowhere  so  strik- 
ing as  in  Frankfort. 

Approaching  the  city  you  see  the  old  watch  towers  high  on 
the  hills  that  surround  the  environs  of  Frankfort,  those  remain- 
ing monuments  of  the  reign  of  force,  when  the  people,  ruled 
mercilessly  by  the  nobles,  erected  these  towers  from  which  the 
usurpers  watched  each  other.  Germanv  is  not  yet  free  from 
41 


642 


NASBY   IN    EXILE. 


this  kind  of  rule ;  it  has  merely  taken  a  different  form.     Gun- 

powder  changed  the 
form  of  force,  but 
not  its  spirit.  These 
once  impregnable 
fortresses  would  not 
stand  a  minute  be- 
fore the  artillery  of 
the  present,  and  so 
they  are  abandoned. 
But  in  their  stead 
are  the  regiments 
we  saw  in  Mann- 
heim and  every- 
where else,  each  one 
a  fortress  of  flesh 
and  blood.  Ger- 
many  will  get  rid  of 
the  whole  of  it  one 
of  these  days,  and 
the  million  of  men 
employed  to  support 
that  one  unmitiga- 
ted curse  of  the 
world,  royalty,  will 
be  added  to  the  pro- 
ductive power  of  the 
country  instead  of 
living  upon  it. 

As  we  leave  the 
fine  station  and 
enter  the  wide  "  An- 
lagen,"  or  public 
grounds,  that  com- 
pletely encircle  the. 
city  and  are  lined 
with  handsome 
buildings,  it  is  hard  to  realize  that  the  city  of  Frankfort  dates 
from  the  time  of  Charlemagne,  and  that  it  has  for  centuriea 


STBSBT  ON  THE  ROMKBBERG. 


SOLID    BUILDINGS.  643 

played  an  important  part  in  the  history  of  Germany.  From 
the  year  1152  the  German  emperors  were  chosen  in  Frankfort. 

The  Kaiser-strasse  leads  directly  to  the  center  of  the  city, 
and  is  lined  with  magnificent  business  blocks  and  dwellings. 
The  street  is  wide  and  well  kept,  the  buildings  are  all  of  the 
modern  style  of  architecture,  built  of  cut  stone,  and  they  pre- 
sent a  fresh  and  attractive  appearance. 

Speaking  of  buildings  in  European  cities,  it  would  be  fortu- 
nate for  us  of  America  if  we  could  imitate  them  ever  so 
slightly.  In  London  I  visited  a  steam  fire  engine  house,  and 
was  amused  at  the  clumsiness  of  the  apparatus,  and  the  slow- 
ness in  general  of  the  entire  concern.  The  horses,  for  instance, 
were  stabled  around  a  corner!  In  New  York  the  horses  are 
in  the  same  room  with  the  engine,  fastened  so  they  may  be 
unhitched  by  electricity,  the  men  sleep  in  their  clothes  above, 
and  everything  is  arranged  so  that  in  one  second  the  engine  is 
on  the  street,  and  on  its  way  to  the  fire  on  a  run. 

"  How  long  does  it  take  you  to  get  out  upon  the  street  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  From  seven  to  ten  minutes." 

"  Why,  in  America  we  get  out  in  two  and  one-half  seconds." 

"  Y-a-a-s,  and  so  would  Ave,  if  we  huilt  tinder  hoxes^ 

There  he  had' me  and  had  me  badly.  There  is  no  necessity 
for  rapid  and  extensive  fire  departments  in  Europe,  for  the 
houses  are  not  mere  lumber  yards,  as  with  us.  When  a  man 
wants  to  build  in  a  European  city  he  has  to  get  a  License.  His 
plans  are  submitted  to  the  authorities,  and,  if  approved,  a 
proper  authority  stands  over  the  work  and  sees  that  it  is 
properly  built.  You  are  not  permitted  to  run  up  a  fire  trap  in 
the  midst  of  valuable  property ;  you  are  not  permitted  to  build 
a  showy  sham  that  may  be  burned  to  the  ground  in  ten  min- 
utes. Nothing  of  the  sort.  Your  walls  must  be  solid,  your 
staircases  of  stone,  and  open,  not  of  pine  with  the  space  under 
them  for  coal-oil  depositories,  there  must  be  so  many  escapes 
from  the  building,  the  roof  must  be  metal  or  slate,  and  the 
walls  must  be  so  built  that  a  fire  cannot  get  beyond  the  room 
in  which  it  originates,  and  the  only  damage  that  can  possibly 
result  is  the  destruction  of  the  contents  of  the  room,  and  such 
damage  as  smoke  and  water  may  inflict.     When  a  fire  occurs 


644 


NASBY    IN    KXILE. 


in  one  room  in  a  house,  the  people  in  the  other  rooms  keep  on 
as  usual.     It  does  not  annoy  them,  for  the  fire  cannot  spread. 


FKANKFORT-ON-THE-MAINE— THE   JEWS'  STREET. 

'No  one  dreads  to  occupy  a  room  on  the  fourth  floor  of  a 
European  hotel,  for  the  idea  of  fire  never  occurs  to  one. 


Thev 


THE  jews'  street.  645 

seldom  have  fires,  and  when  one  occurs  it  is  counted  a  mis- 
demeanor on  the  part  of  the  owner  of  the  premises. 

This  all  comes  of  solid  and  substantial  buildings,  to  begin 
with.  As  a  matter  of  course,  a  house  costs  something  at  the 
start,  but  when  you  get  through  you  have  a  house  for  all  time. 
The  modern  buildings  in  Franldoii:  will  be  standing  and  in 
good  repair  centuries  hence.  I  wish  I  could  live  to  verify  this 
assertion,  but  I  suppose  I  shall  not. 

Going  on  through  the  Kossmarkt,  where  there  is  a  fine 
monument  to  Gutenberg,  we  came  to  the  Zeil,  a  very  beautiful 
street,  and  then,  turning  to  the  right,  found  ourselves  in  the 
celebrated  Judengasse,  or  Jews'  street,  one  of  the  most  dingy, 
wretched,  forlorn  quarters  that  can  well  be  imagined. 

The  street  is  narrow,  dirty,  and  squalid.  The  houses  are 
high  structures  in  the  last  stages  of  decay,  many  of  them 
having  great  props  to  keep  them  from  falling.  The  inmates 
of  these  apologies  for  houses  are  as  dirty  and  squalid  as  the 
street  itself.  There  are  little  pawn  shops,  dirty  shops  where 
old  clothes  are  sold,  an  occasional  tenement  house,  and  very 
many  liquor  stores.  It  is  the  very  acme  of  squalor  and  is  in 
great  contrast  with  the  elegance  of  the  Zeil,  only  a  block  or 
two  away. 

A  dirty,  squalid,  beggarly-looking  street  is  Judengasse,  but 
who  knows  what  wealth  is  hidden  behind  all  this  apparent 
poverty  ?  The  Jew  of  to-day  is  no  less  acute  than  the  Jew  of 
the  fourteenth  century.  He  has  all  the  wisdom  of  his  ancestors 
in  money  getting,  with  the  added  experience  of  time.  He  can 
no  longer  be  hauled  up  by  a  mailed  knight,  and  compelled  to 
disgorge ;  but  in  the  stead  of  the  robber,  by  the  strong  hand, 
there  is  the  tax-gatherer ;  and,  in  his  passion  for  the  accumula- 
tion of  wealth  and  disinchnation  to  part  with  it,  the  Frankfort 
Israelite  hates  the  one  as  heartily  as  his  ancestor  did  the  other. 
The  American  Israelite  lives  as  bravely  and  ostentatiously  as 
any  man,  and  even  more  so,  but  the  habit  in  the  old  European 
cities  is  to  conceal  wealth,  to  live  meanly,  and  to  find  enjoy- 
ment, not  in  the  using  of  money  but  its  accumulation. 

This  street  has  always  been  set  apart  for  Jews,  and  down 
to  the  year  1806  it  was  closed  every  evening,  and  on  Sundays 
and  holidays,  throughout  the  entire  day,  and  no  one  of  its 


64:6  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

inhabitants  were  allowed  in  any  other  part  of  the  city,  under 
heavy  penalty.  Until  the  time  of  the  Prince  Primate,  in  1806, 
no  Jew  was  ever  allowed  to  enter  the  Pomerberg,  or  market 
place  in  front  of  the  town  hall.  It  is  said  that  while  the 
persecutions  of  the  Jews  from  the  twelfth  to  the  seventeenth 
century  throughout  the  continent  was  merciless,  it  continued 
longer  in  Germany  than  any  other  country,  coming  down,  in 
Frankfort,  even  to  the  present  century. 

I^otwithstanding  the  abridgement  of  their  rights,  a  great 
many  of  the  Jews  attained  wealth  and  distinction.  The  house 
is  still  pointed  out  in  Judengasse  where  the  Pothschilds,  the 
founders  of  the  present  great  banking  house,  lived  during  those 
troubulous  times. 

It  is  the  same  old  story.  The  Jews,  despised,  persecuted 
and  outraged  in  every  way,  bore  everything  patiently,  waiting 
for  the  time  for  their  revenge.  And  their  revenge  has  come  in 
ever}^  country.  In  the  olden  days,  in  all  the  countries  of 
Europe,  the  Jew  had  no  rights  Avhich  any  other  nationality  or 
blood  was  bound  to  respect.  He  was  outside  of  the  law.  He 
was  tax3d  at  the  caprice  of  every  prince  and  power.  He  had 
no  chance  in  any  court  where  a  Christian  was  opposed  to  him, 
and  when  they  differed  among  themselves,  it  was  made  a  pre- 
text to  rob  him.  The  most  absurd  laws  were  made  against 
them,  and  it  really  seemed  as  though  the  native  rulers  and 
their  subjects  laid  awake  nights  to  invent  ways  to  oppress  them. 

All  this  has  changed.  With  a  power  of  endurance  simply 
wonderful,  they  bowed  their  heads  to  their  oppressors,  and,  as 
all  oppressed  people  do,  substituted  cunning  for  brute  strength, 
and  trained  minds  for  lusty  thews  and  sinews.  They  won  in 
the  end. 

The  despised  family  of  Pothschild,  once  compelled  by  the 
haughty  citizens  to  confine  themselves  to  one  quarter  of  the 
city,  is  now  its  boast.  The  Frankforter  takes  more  pride 
to-day  in  the  fact  that  the  city  was  the  home  of  the  Poths- 
childs, than  it  does  in  the  fact  that  it  was  for  centuries  the 
seat  of  government  of  the  German  Empire.  The  Jew  in 
Europe,  while  yet  under  something  of  a  ban,  is  not  the  despised 
creature  he  was.     The  world  has  learned  to  respect  him. 

There  is  not  a  calling  in  Europe  that  a  Jew  is  not  at  the 


SOMETHING    ABOCT    JEWS.  647 

very  head  and  front  of.  He  has  composed  all  the  great  operas, 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  Judea  are  the  great  actors  and  singers 
of  the  world ;  in  law  and  divinity,  and  learning  of  all  kinds, 
they  stand  at  the  head,  and  in  finance  they  are  the  world's 
creditors.  A  convention  of  Jew  bankers  could  be  called 
together  who  could  shake  every  throne  in  Europe. 

Kings  and  nobles  don't  pull  the  teeth  of  Jews  any  more  to 
extract  loans.  On  the  contrary,  they  come  into  the  presence 
of  these  great  financiers  with  hat  in  hand  and  humble  step. 
The  Jew  holds  the  forceps  now,  and  it  is  the  noble's  teeth  that 
are  pulled.  How,  in  the  absence  of  all  law,  hated,  despised 
and  contemned,  and  persecuted,  they  could  amass  wealth,  is  a 
mystery,  but  they  did  it. 

When  persecution  in  one  State  got  too  warm  for  them 
they  always  had  enough  wealth  to  get  away  to  another,  and 
they  always  found  a  prince  who  needed  money  badly  enough 
to  give  them  protection,  for  a  time,  at  least,  and  these  same 
princes  were  wont  to  become  silent  partners  with  the  Jews  in 
the  work  of  eating  up  their  own  subjects  with  usury,  which 
held  until  the  Jews  got  the  upper  hand,  when  the  prince 
always  made  a  raid  upon  them,  paying  his  debts  to  them  in 
this  way,  aifd  they  flitted. 

Finally  they  got  some  measure  of  rights,  when  they  made 
themselves  felt.  The  hatred  of  Jews  continues  in  Germany 
and  Russia,  for  the  reason  that  their  superior  energy  and 
acuteness  has  made  them  the  masters  of  the  trade  of  those 
countries.  There  is  no  business  that  they  do  not  control.  A 
great  people  are  the  descendants  of  Abraham,  Isaac  and  Jacob. 
They  live  where  all  others  die,  they  wax  rich  where  others 
starve.  It  is  so  in  Europe,  it  is  so  in  America,  it  is  so  every- 
where. There  is  no  village  so  small  that  it  has  not  its  Jew, 
precisely  as  in  America.  The  Jew  w^ith  his  goods  is  the  first 
man  in  a  new  town  —  he  progresses  a  little  faster  than  pro- 
gress. He  was  in  the  front  or  in  the  rear  of  the  armies  going 
southward ;  he  was  at  the  western  end  of  every  rail  laid  on  the 
Pacific  Eoad ;  he  is  essentially  the  pioneer  in  money  and  trade. 
They  are  a  w^onderful  people. 

The  Jew  of  the  fifteenth  century  and  the  Jew  of  to-day  are 
practically  the  same.      They  use  different  methods,   but  the 


648  NASEY  IN  j:xile. 

■underlying  principle  that  moves  them  remains  unchanged. 
We  had  two  of  them  in  the  cars  coming  to  Frankfort,  an 
elderly  Israelite  with  the  regular  nose,  and  his  nephew,  who 
was  the  exact  picture  of  his  uncle.  The  old  man  was  giving 
the  boy  sage  counsel : 

*'  Yot  is  necessary  for  a  peesnis  man,  Abram,  is  berseverance 
more  ash  anyting  else.  Berseverance  is  vot  vins,  every  dime. 
Yen  I  livet  in  Shalesfille,  shust  back  mit  Yicksberg,  (I  vas  in 
clodink),  der  vash  Cohen  and  Lilienthal  both  in  groceries. 
Cohen  vas  doin  der  besht  peesness  and  it  made  Lilienthal  mat. 
Lilienthal  mate  a  special  ding  oof  mackarel  and  Cohen  unter- 
selt  him.  Den  Lilienthal  put  down  sugar  but  Cohen  unterselt 
him.  Lilienthal  put  rice  down  mit  almosht  nottin,  unt  Cohen 
almosht  gif  it  avay.  Cohen  het  de  peesnis,  and  no  matter  how 
much  Lilienthal  sanded  hees  sugar  and  vatered  hees  vishkey 
Cohen  alvays  beet  him.     Dot  Cohen  vas  a  goot  peesnis  man. 

"  But  Lilienthal  vash  de  most  berseverin  man  ash  ever  vash, 
and  he  vash  pound  to  beat  Cohen  anyhow,  and  so  vun  day  he 
notist  dot  Cohen  het  a  fery  fine  delivery  mule.  So  Lilienthal 
he  salt  to  Cohen : 

"  ^  Shake,  dit  you  efer  dink  dot  oof  dot  mule  oof  yours  hed 
dot  wart  off  his  hint  leg  he  w^ood  pring  you  more  ash  dwice 
vot  he  vood  now  ? ' 

" 'Dot  wart?  It  don't  look  veil.  But  how  ish  dot  wart  to 
be  got  off  ?  Der  hint  leg  oof  a  helty  mule  isn't  der  pesht  blace 
to  go  foolin  rount.' 

"  Lilienthal  vas  a  most  berseverin'  man.     He  sait : 

" '  It's  der  easiest  ting  vot  efer  vos.  You  come  up  behint 
dot  mule  mit  a  red  hot  iron  and  burn  off  der  wart.  De  mule 
is  vort  a  huntret  toUars  more  ash  he  vas.' 

"Cohen  triet  it  der  next  tay,  unt  hish  funeral  vash  der 
piggest  vot  dey  efer  hat  in  Shalesfille.  Lilienthal  attented  it 
hisself  in  two  carriages,  an'  he  vent  right  along  and  did  all  de 
peesness,  and  at  a  goot  brofit,  vor  he  hedn't  no  gompetishun. 
Lihenthal  vosh  a  berseverin'  man,  Abram.  Der  ain't  notting 
in  peesness  like  berseverance,    Eemember  dot." 

In  a  historic  point  of  view,  very  interesting  is  the  Eomer, 
or  Council  Hall,  erected  about  the  year  1406.  It  faces  the 
Romerberg,  and  its  three  pointed  gables  give  it  a  picturesque 


THE   ROMEE, 


649 


appearance.     In  the  principal   hall   on  the  second  floor  are 
"Portraits  of  the  Emperors,"  beginning  with  Charlemagne  (Y68- 


"  DER  HINT  LEG  OOF   A  HELTY   MULE  ISN'T  DER  PESHT  BLACE  TO  GO  FOOLIN^ 

ROUNT." 

814),  and  Conrad  I.  (911-818),  and  coming  down  to  Ferdinand 
III.  (1637-1658).  It  was  in  this  room  the  new  emperor  dined 
with  the  electors  and  then  showed  himself  to  the  people 
assembled  in  the  market  place  in  front.  Adjoining  this  room 
is  a  smaller  one,  in  which  the  electors  used  to  meet  to  consult 


650  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

on  the  choice  of  an  emperor.     It  is  still  preserved  in  the  style 
of  the  olden  days. 

Of  course  Frankfort  has  fine  churches  and  a  cathedral,  but 
there  is  no  especial  merit  in  them. 

E'ear  the  monument  erected  on  the  Friedberger  Thor  by 
Frederick  William  II.  to  the  memory  of  the  Hessians  who  fell 
in  1792,  during  the  attack  on  Frankfort,  is  a  small  circular 
building  which  contains  one  of  the  most  beautiful  as  well  as 
most  celebrated  Avorks  of  art  in  Germany,  if  not  in  Europe. 

A  wealthy  banker,  named  Bethman,  purchased  from  the 
artist,  Dannecker,  of  Stuttgart,  his  masterpiece,  the  exquisite 
^'Ariadne  on  the  Panther,"  and  erected  this  building  for  its 
exhibition.  In  one  part  of  the  room  is  a  recess,  separated  from 
the  room  by  a  crimson  curtain.  The  ceiling  is  of  glass,  across 
which  is  stretched  some  heavy  crimson  cloth  stuff.  This  filters 
the  light,  soft  and  subdued  upon  the  group,  producing  a  most 
beautiful  effect.  The  figure  of  Ariadne,  nearly  life-size,  is  half 
sitting,  half  reclining  on  the  back  of  the  panther,  one  elbow 
resting  on  the  animal's  head.  The  position  is  one  of  grace  itself, 
and  the  modeling  is  perfect.  As  the  soft  light  is  shed  upon  the 
pure  white  marble,  one  can  almost  believe  that  it  is  the  figure 
of  a  living,  breathing  woman  before  him.  The  effect  is  greatly 
heightened  by  the  arrangement  of  the  pedestal  which  allows 
the  statue  to  be  slowly  revolved,  thus  giving  the  peculiar  light 
and  shade  effect  to  every  part.  It  is  truly  a  most  marvelous 
piece  of  statuary,  and  is  Avorthy  the  admiration  and  praise 
bestowed  upon  it  by  the  most  eminent  critics. 

During  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  Frankfort 
derived  the  most  of  her  importance  from  the  great  fairs  that 
were  held  there  annually.  Merchants  came  from  all  parts  of 
the  country,  Avith  their  stuffs,  and  made  the  old  city,  for  the 
time  being,  a  great  commercial  center,  a  position  its  excellent 
location  especially  adapted  it  for.  But  later,  these  fairs  lost 
their  prestige,  and  finally  died  away  altogether,  though  occa- 
sionally they  have  an  industrial  exposition.  But  they  are 
nothing  compared  to  the  fairs  of  the  olden  time. 

While  Ave  Avere  in  Frankfort  an  Industrial  Exposition  Avas 
in  progress  which,  of  course,  Ave  Ansited,  and  spent  at  least  tAvo 
hours  very  pleasantly,  wandering  around  the  different  buildings 


THE    LOVELY    GARDENS. 


651 


and  the  beautiful  grounds.  The  display  was  about  equal  to  an 
ordinary  State  Fair  in  Western  America.  The  most  enjoj^able 
portion  of  it  all  was  the  ride  back  to  the  depot,  through  the 
floral  gardens,  with  their  magnificent  flowers  and  plants  and 
shrubs,  and  along  the  broad  Anlagen,  with  their  handsome 
residences  and  well  kept  lawns. 


COLOGNE   CATHEDRAL. 


CHAPTEK  XLIY. 

DOWN    TPIE    RHINE. 

"What  a  flood  of  anticipations  came  trooping  through  the 
mind  at  the  mere  thought  of  a  sail  "  Down  the  Rhine."  Down 
that  famous  old  river,  every  mile  the  scene  of  a  legend; 'the 
river  in  whose  praise  poets  have  sung  for  ages ;  whose  every 
turn  reveals  a  castle  or  fortress  that  has  figured  for  centuries  in 
story  and  song !  What  visions  of  wooded  banks,  vine-clad 
hills,  and  ivy-covered  ruins  !  What  pure,  unalloyed  pleasure  a 
trip  "  Dow^n  the  Khine  "  must  be  ! 

And  it  is.  Poets  may  have  written  what  seemed  to  be 
over-wrought  praises  of  its  marvelous  beauty;  writers  may 
have  gone  into  ecstacies  over  its  beauty,  its  grandeur  and  its 
sublimity,  but  they  have  none  of  them  exaggerated.  It  is  all 
that  has  been  said  of  it,  and  more. 

AVe  wxre  w^hirled  into  the  fortified  city  of  Mayence,  a  place 
that  has  long  been  an  important  strategical  point,  early  in 
the  afternoon  of  a  lovely  day  in  August.  The  sun  was  shining 
brightly,  the  river  was  clear  and  limpid,  and  everything  was 
propitious.     Favorable,  indeed,  began  our  trip  down  the  Phine. 

Sailing  down  the  river,  past  the  grim  fortifications  on  both 
sides,  we  pass  between  two  islands,  and  soon  reach  the  pretty 
little  town  of  Biebrich,  where,  in  A.  D.  840,  Louis  the  Pious, 
son  and  successor  of  Charlemagne,  died. 

The  river  at  this  point  begins  to  assume  a  bolder  and  more 
picturesque  appearance  than  it  did  near  Mayence,  and  as  Ave 
approach  Eltville  we  get  the  first  glimpse  of  a  ruined  castle, 
built  in  1330,  by  Baldwin,  Archbisliop  of  Treves,  who  was 
then  Governor  of  Mayence.  It  stands  high  up  the  bank,  and 
is  almost  hidden  from  view  by  the  trees  that  surround  it.  Just 
beyond,  back  of  a  low-lying  island,  is  the  tow^n  of  Erbach,  near 
which  are  some  old  abbey's  ruins. 

(652) 


653 

From  here  the  river  is  dotted  with  little  islands  whose  irreg- 
ular shape  and  diversified  surface  adds  a  new  charm  to  the 
scene ;  while  over  on  the  right  bank,  in  a  commanding  position, 
surrounded  by  fruitful  vineyards,  is  the  celebrated  Schloss 
Johannisberg,  built  in  1Y16  on  the  site  of  an  old  Benedictine 
monastery  founded  in  1106.  Around  this  old  castle,  which  is 
in  good  repair,  are  the  vineyards  from  which  come  the  famous 
Johannisberger  wines,  the  favorite  of  aU  Ehine  wines.  From 
this  point  all  along  the  river  to  the  "  Siebengeberger "  or 
"  Seven  Mountains,"  the  vineyards  that  clothe  the  banks  of  the 
river  are  famous  for  their  exquisite  wines. 

A  few  minutes  further  on  and  on  the  same  bank  Elides- 
heim  comes  into  sight,  flanked  by  the  massive  Bromserburg, 
a  massive  castle,  with  ivy-grown  walls,  that  towers  high  above 
the  little  town  below  it.  This  is  another  famous  wine-pro- 
ducing district,  its  fame  having  been  handed  down  from  as 
far  back  as  the  twelfth  century.  The  castle,  a  three-storied 
rectangular  building,  was  erected  in  the  twelfth  century,  and 
has  but  recently  been,  restored. 

With  a  graceful  sweep  that  reveals  new  beauties  every 
minute,  we  came  in  sight  of  Bingen,  "fair  Bingen  on  the 
Ehine,"  just  where  the  Kiver  Nahe  empties  into  the  noble 
stream.  High  above  it,  on  a  thickly  wooded  eminence,  on 
the  site  of  an  ancient  Eoman  fortress,  is  the  Castle  Klopp, 
with  its  frowning  battlements  and  forbidding  towers. 

T^o  one  can  see  what  there  is  about  Bingen  to  make  it 
famous.  It  never  would  have  been  famous  but  for  the  Hon. 
Mrs.  Norton,  an  English  poetess,  who  found  the  name  to  be 
properly  accented,  and  of  the  right  number  of  syllables  for  use 
in  a  poem,  which  she  wrote.  It  will  be  known  so  long  as  the 
platform  is  infested  with  readers  and  there  are  school  exhi- 
bitions. 

"A  soldier  of  the  legion  lay  dying  in  Algiers, 

There  was  lack  of  woman's  nursing,  there  was  dearth  of  woman's  tears." 

That's  the  way  it  commences,  and  the  burden  to  each 
stanza  is: — 

"For  I  was  bom  in  Bingen  —  fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine." 

It  is  a  most  absurd  poem.  There  must  necessarily  be  a 
lack  of  woman's  tears  around  a  shot  soldier  in  a  foreign  land, 


654  NASliY    IN    EXILE. 

for  no  government  on  earth  could  afford  its  soldiers  any  suck 
luxury.  How,  possibly,  could  a  government  send  out  a  com- 
plement of  wives,  sisters,  cousins  and  aunts  to  nurse  and  weep 
over  each  wounded  individual?  And  then  this  soldier,  mor- 
tally Avounded,  instead  of  dying  properly,  goes  on  through 
nearly  two  hundred  lines  to  send  messages  to  everybody  he 
ever  knew  in  Bingen,  ending  each  message  with: 

'Fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine." 

"And  so,  as  the  boat  approached  Bingen,  all  the  excur- 
sionists,  especially  the  sweet  girls  from  the  seminaries,  who 
were  on  their  Summer  vacation,  murmured  softly : 

"  For  I  was  born  at  Bingen — fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine." 

And  one  young  divinity  student,  with  long  hair,  and  a  high 
forehead,  and  long,  narrow  white  hands,  deliberately  recited 
the  whole  poem  with  what  he  firmly  believed  to  be  "  expres- 
sion," which  consisted  in  ending  each  sentence  with  the  upward 
inflection.  The  ineffable  nuisance  had  spent  the  night  in 
committing  the  drivel  to  memory,  and  he  spared  us  never  a 
line. 

The  school-girls  all  said,  "  How  nice ! "  Tibbitts  went  below 
iand  amused  himself  with  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  the  majority  of 
the  other  passengers  walked  forward  where  they  could  smoke. 

x^nd  then  the  real  worry  of  life  began.  The  dozen  or  more 
young  men  with  high  foreheads,  who  did  hear  the  "  reader  " 
through,  sought  you  out,  and  collared  you,  and  said :  "  Did  you 

hear  Mr.  read  Bingen  ?     He  thinks  he  can  read,  but  he 

can't.     ]N^ow  this  is  the  proper  way  to  read  that  poem." 

And  he  went  right  on,  and  read  it  to  you  as  he  thought  it 
should  be  done.     There  were  thirteen  of  them. 

Scarcely  has  this  view  faded  from  sight  before  we  pass  the 
ruined  towers  of  a  castle  erected  in  1210,  and  destroyed  by  the 
French  in  1689.  Just  opposite  this  ruin  is  the  famous  Mouse 
Tower,  a  small,  circular  tower,  built  of  massive  stone.  It  takes 
its  name  from  the  legend  of  Hatto,  Archbishop  of  Mayence. 
The  legend  runs  that  during  a  great  famine  in  the  land  there- 
abouts, the  poor  people  were  sorely  distressed  for  corn,  and 
vainly  besought  Archbishop  Hatto,  who  had  graneries  full  of 
the  previous  year's  crop,  to  aid  them  in  their  time  of  want.  At 
length  he  promised  that  to  all  who  should  be  at  his  barn  on  a 


THE    MOUSE    TOWEK. 


655 


certain  morning  he  would  give  corn.  Of  course  the '  poor 
people  flocked  thither,  and  when  the  barn  was  full  he  locked 
the  doors,  and,  despite  their  piteous  cries  for  mercy,  set  the 
barn  on  fire,  and  laughed  at  their  cries,  comparing  them  to 
mice  that  had  ^ome  to  carry  away  his  corn. 


DEATH  OF  ARCHBISHOP  HaTTO, 

That  night  he  had  troubled  dreams,  as  was  proper,  and  in 
the  morning  his  servants  told  him  to  fly,  for  his  grounds  were 
being  filled  with  rats  who  had  eaten  all  the  corn  he  had  saved. 
He  hastily  quitted  his  castle  and  sought  refuge  in  the  castle  on 
the  island,  thinking , that  the  steep  rocks  and  swift  water  would 


656  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

prevent  the  rats  from  finding  him  there.  But  thej  swarmed 
over  the  island  by  millions  and  the  cruel  Archbishop  died  a 
terrible  lingering  death. 

This  is  a  good  solid  legend,  with  meat  in  it.  There  is  a 
great  moral  lesson  inculcated,  and  every  legend  should  incul- 
cate a  moral.  It  contains,  I  thought,  a  solemn  warning  to 
American  grain  operators. 

But  Tibbitts  found  a  great  many  flaws  in  it,  and  said  he  did 
not  consider  it  a  good  legend  at  all.  It  was  full  of  improba- 
bilities. Hatto  made  a  corner  on  corn.  Yery  good.  He  had 
some  purpose  in  it.  Yery  good.  That  purpose  could  have 
been  nothing  but  a  speculative  desire  to  run  up  the  price  of  his 
corn  and  sell  out  at  an  advance.  Yery  good.  To  whom  could 
he  sell  the  corn  at  a  profit?  Only  to  the  starving  people. 
Now  what  an  ass  he  must  have  been  to  corner  the  corn  and 
then  go  and  burn  up  his  customers,  the  people  to  whom  he 
€ould  have  sold  the  corn  at  any  price!  Mr.  Tibbitts  insisted 
that  that  wouldn't  wash. 

He  doubted  the  rat  story  also.  He  knew  all  about  grain 
operators.  He  knew  many  of  them  in  Chicago  who  frequently 
saw  rats,  and  snakes,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Probably 
Archbishop  Hatto  had  been  drinking,  and  fancied  these  things. 
But  it  was  well  enough.  One  must  have  legends  and  it 
would  n't  do  to  go  any  more  closely  into  particulars  about 
legends,  than  it  does  to  be  too  critical  as  to  the  character  of 
candidates  for  Congress.  He  should  accept  Hatto,  corn,  rats 
and  all.  It  was  a  very  pretty  story  —  for  children.  It  would 
teach  them  not  to  burn  people. 

At  this  point  the  Rhine  makes  a  sudden  bend  and  the  chan- 
nel becomes  very  narrow.  Formerly  the  passage  was  very 
dangerous,  and  in  the  olden  times  it  was  a  favorite  spot  for  the 
robber  knights  who  had  their  strongholds  on  the  banks  there- 
abouts, to  stop  trading  vessels  on  their  way  up  and  down  the 
river  to  request  the  payment  of  tolls. 

The  merchants  always  paid  the  toUs.  Sir  Hugo,  or  Sir 
Bruno,  or  Sir  whoever  he  might  be,  did  not  need  a  Custom 
House  to  collect  his  imposts.  He  merely  had  a  score  or  more 
of  cut-throats,  fellows  who  would  kill  a  man  for  sixpence,  or  its 
equivalent  in  the  money  of  the  day,  and  in  default  of  the 


657 

sixpence  would  do  it  for  the  sheer  love  of  the  thing,  and  the 
trader  found  it  much  better  to  give  what  was  asked  than  to  go 
to  the  bottom  of  the  Rhine  with  a  slit  in  his  windpipe.  But  I 
have  no  idea  that  he  lost  anything.  He  counted  this  in  his 
expense  account,  the  same  as  the  merchant  of  to-day  does  his 
insurance  and  bad  debts,  and  he  took  it  out  of  his  customers, 
and  they  in  turn  took  it  out  of  the  people.  All  of  these  things 
come  out  of  the  ground  at  the  end.  It  is  the  tiller  of  the  soil 
who  finally  pays  for  the  soldier,  the  robber,  the  judge  and 
jury,  the  gin-mill  and  the  faro  bank.  And  Tibbitts  referred  at 
once  to  a  remark  he  had  previously  made,  that  it  was  vice,  not 
virtue,  that  cost  the  world,  that  to  wipe  out  the  gin-mills  was 
to  do  away  with  the  police,  the  courts,  and  with  the  hangman, 
and  everything  else  connected  with  what  is  called  justice,  that 
is  so  expensive.  Armies  are  supported  to  sustain  kings  and 
courts,  liquor  makes  police  and  justices'  courts  necessary,  and 
while  everybody  seems  to  pay  a  tax,  none  of  them  do  it  but 
the  tiller  of  the  soil,  for  they  all  charge  up  these  expenses  on 
what  they  do  till  it  gets  down  to  him.  What  he  would  do 
would  be  to  do  away  with  ,vice.  Yirtue  is  very  cheap — so 
cheap  that  he  wondered  more  people  did  not  encourage  it. 

The  banks  now  assume  a  more  rugged  appearance,  and  on 
each  eminence  is  a  castle  or  a  ruin.  We  pass  by  in  rapid  suc- 
cession a  number  of  very  picturesque  views,  in  each  one  of 
which  these  ancient  fortresses  play  an  important  part.  Those 
old  robbers  knew  well  where  to  build,  and  they  built  exceeding 
well. 

After  passing  Lorch  we  came  to  the  pretty  stream  of  the 
Wisper,  which  empties  into  the  Ehine  at  this  point.  On  the 
left  bank  of  the  stream  is  a  rugged  cliff,  towering  high  in  the 
air,  called  the  "Devil's  Ladder,"  which,  of  course,  has  its 
legend. 

E"ear  Lorch  there  lived  a  knight  who,  after  losing  his  wife, 
became  sullen  and  morose,  and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
any  one  but  his  daughter,  a  lovely  girl,  just  budding  into 
womanhood.  He  refused  to  grant  hospitality  to  any  one  who 
asked  it.  One  stormy  night  a  knight  in  distress  applied  for 
shelter  and  rest  and  was  gruffly  refused.  The  next  morning 
when  old  Sibo,  the  knight,  inquired  for  his  daughter,  he  was 
42 


658  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

told  that  she  had  been  seen  early  in  the  morning  with  two 
sprites  going  up  the  impassable  crag  across  the  river.  The 
distracted  father  hastened  after  and  could  see  his  daughter  on 
the  very  summit  of  the  crag.  Almost  crazed  with  grief  he  in 
vain  besought  the  sprites  to  return  her  to  him.  But  they  only 
laughed  and  jeered  at  him.  Finally,  after  a  long  time  had 
passed,  a  young  knight  who  had  long  loved  the  maid  returned 
from  the  wars,  and  hearing  the  rather  awkward  situation  his 
early  love  was  in,  hastily  repaired  to  the  foot  of  the  crag 
determined  to  rescue  her.  But  it  was  in  vain.  There  was  no 
way  of  making  the  ascent.  He  was  about  giving  up  in 
despair  when  a  little  figure  suddenly  appeared  before  him, 
and  asked  him  why  he  was  so  despondent.  On  learning  his 
love  for  the  girl  she  told  him  to  come  again  at  the  same  time 
the  following  evening.  The  young  knight  returned  promptly^ 
as  young  men  in  love  always  do,  and  was  surprised  to  find  a 
ladder  reaching  from  the  foot  to  the  top  of  the  crag.  He 
hastily  mounted  to  the  summit,  and  there  in  an  enchanted 
garden  he  found  the  object  of  his  search,  and  soon  restored  her 
to  her  father,  who  henceforth  wa^  most  lavish  with  his  hospi- 
tality. The  maiden  and  the  brave  young  knight  were  united 
in  marriage  and  lived  a  long  and  happy  life.  The  ladder 
remained  on  the  rock  for  many  years,  and  was  called  the 
Devil's  Ladder.  It  fell  away  in  the  course  of  time,  but  the 
name  has  ever  since  been  applied  to  the  great  rugged  cliff. 

It  is  a  thousand  pities  that  some  of  these  ladders  and  things 
don't  remain,  simply  to  give  us  faith  in  the  legends.  If  there 
was  just  one  round  of  the  ladder  left,  if  one  could  only  be 
shown  the  holes  in  the  rock  in  which  he  was  fastened,  it  would 
be  something,  but  there  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  You  have  to 
take  it  all  on  faith,  and  that  is  sometimes  wrenching. 

All  the  way  along  the  river,  from  here  to  beyond  Coblenz, 
the  Rhine  is  a  succession  of  constantly  changing  views  as  the 
boat  winds  its  way  around  the  tortuous  channel,  every  one 
more  beautiful  and  picturesque  than  its  predecessor.  There  are 
castles  on  high  hills  on  the  right  bank,  some  close  to  the  river, 
others  further  inland,  just  discernable  through  the  trees.  On 
the  left  bank  are  pretty  villas  and  more  castles,  and  occasion- 
ally an  island  is  passed  that  has  on  it  a  ruined  watch  tower 


THE    LUKLIEBEKG.  659 

built  hundreds  of  years  ago,  when  might  was  right  in  this 
romantic  country. 

Just  before  approaching  the  pretty  village  of  St.  Goar,  on 
the  left  hand  of  the  Rhine,  the  imposing  rocks  of  the  Lurlie 
rise  over  four  hundred  feet  above  the  river.  Here  the  current 
is  very  swift,  and  many  are  the  tales  told  of  bold  adventurous 
knights  who  have  lost  their  hves  under  the  shadow  of 
this  famous  rock. 

Of  course  the  Lurlieberg,  as  the  rock  is  called,  has  its 
legend,  as  has  every  well  regulated  rock  on  the  river.  A  rock 
without  an  appropriate  legend  would  be  no  rock  at  all.  The 
knights  and  ladies,  and  witches  and  devils,  of  the  olden  time, 
existed,  apparently,  solely  in  the  interest  of  the  booksellers  of 
Mayence,  and  the  other  cities  of  to-day.  The  legend  of  the 
Lurlie  runs  something  like  this  : 

The  rock  known  as  the  Lurlie  was  the  resort  of  a  water- 
nymph,  who  was  about  as  capricious  as  other  nymphs.  She 
was  a  young  lady  w^ho  could  live  under  water  as  well  as  above 
it ;  in  fact,  her  permanent  residence  was  under  the  Rhine.  Her 
regular  recreation  was  to  come  out  of  the  wet,  and  sit  on  a 
rock,  and  comb  her  long,  yellow  hair  (she  was  a  natural  blonde, 
as  all  entrancers  are),  and  sing,  accompanying  herself  on  a 
golden  lute. 

Of  course  all  the  young  men  in  the  vicinity  fell  desperately 
in  love  with  her,  and  they  went  for  her.  But  while  the  nymph 
would  sing  and  pose  for  them  so  as  to  set  them  crazy,  their 
boats  were  all  dashed  to  pieces  upon  the  rock,  whereat  the 
nymph  would  laugh,  and  comb  her  hair,  and  sing,  and  entice 
other  young  fellows  to  their  doom.  She  was  kindly  only  to 
fishermen,  and  the  one  item  to  her  credit  is  that  she  never  did 
them  harm,  but  always  good.  That  was  probably  because 
they  were  old  men,  and  unimpressible. 

The  son  of  a  count  in  the  vicinity,  fell  in  love  with  her, 
and  despite  the  warnings  he  had  received,  determined  to  con- 
quer her.  He  ordered  his  boat,  and  commanded  the  men  to 
steer  for  the  fatal  rock.  There  was  no  nymph  on  it  at  first, 
but  after  a  minute  or  two  she  appeared  more  radiantly  beauti- 
ful than  ever.  The  foolish  young  man  attempted  to  climb  the 
rock,  but  he  fell  into  the  seething  waves  and  was  neVer  more 
seen. 


660  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

Then  his  father  swore  vengeance  and  sent  vahant  men  to 
seize  her  and  burn  her  as  a  witch.  The  result  might  have  been 
anticipated.  The  nymph  sang  a  song  to  the  waves  and 
plunged  into  them,  laughing,  the  same  waves  upsetting  the 
boat  which  held  the  soldiers,  and  she  descended  to  her  cave 
under  the  water,  while  her  pursuers  thought  themselves  lucky 
to  escape  with  their  lives. 

At  another  time  a  maiden  loved  a  young  man  who  was  to 
go  to  Palestine  to  fight  the  Saracens.  During  his  absence  she 
was  so  persecuted  by  the  other  young  men  that  she  retired  to 
a  convent  near  the  Lurlie,  and  waited  for  her  lover.  At  last 
she  saw  a  boat  approaching  filled  with  men,  and  among  them, 
gorgeously  attired,  was  her  young  man.  Unfortunately  to  get 
to  where  she  was  the  boat  had  tp  come  very  near  the  rock,  the 
water-demons  raised  the  whirlpool,  the  beautiful  nymph  presid- 
ing with  a  mocking  smile,  and  they  seized  the  doomed  craft 
and  hurled  it  against  the  rock,  and  down  it  went,  and  all  on 
board  were  lost.  The  hapless  maid  plunged  into  the  seething 
waves  after  her  lover,  and  as  she  went  under  the  flood,  the 
nymph  of  the  Lurlie  appeared  on  the  surface,  beautiful  as  ever, 
but  with  the  laugh  that  was  frightfully  harsh  and  discordant. 
She  could  not  bear  to  see  earthly  young  maids  happy. 

That  same  night  she  was  on  the  rock  as  usual,  combing  her 
hair,  and  other  young  men  got  into  her  toils,  till  there  was  a 
scarcity  of  eligible  suitors  in  the  neighborhood. 

She  was  a  dangerous  person,  this  young  nymph  of  Lurlie. 

Passing  Coblenz,  a  beautiful  city,  picturesquely  situated  at 
the  confluence  of  the  Mosel  and  the  Rhine,  we  soon  came  to 
the  Siebengebergen,  "Seven  Mountains,"  the  rugged  banks 
gradually  tone  down,  and  between  Bonn  and  Cologne  the 
scenery  is  not  so  interesting,  because  of  the  grandeur  of  that 
which  has  preceded  it.  Still  it  is  not  altogether  devoid  of 
interest,  though  it  is  of  a  quieter  and  less  imposing  kind. 
After  a  five  hours'  ride  through  such  magnificence,  one  is  quite 
willing  to  take  it  in  a  httle  milder  form,  and  we  were 
thoroughly  content  when  we  landed  in  Cologne,  the  great 
cathedral  city. 

Was  there  ever  a  steamboat,  or  stage,  or  rail  car,  or  any 
other  place  where  people  are  thrown  together  in  such  a  way 


THE    SMART    YOUNG    MAN.  661 

that  thev  can  not  escape,  that  that  unmitigated  nuisance,  that 
nuisance  without  any  compensating  features,  the  knowing 
young  man,  the  young  man  who  knows  everything  that  a  young 
man  should  be  ashamed  to  have  it  known  that  he  does  know,  is 
not  present  ?  There  is  a  tremendous  crop  of  these  weeds  every 
year;  Lightning  strikes  innocent  cows  and  beautiful  houses, 
but  it  never  hits  one  of  these  fellows,  which  argues^  a  great 
^vaste  of  electricity.  Good  men  and  beautiful  women  die  of 
fevers  and  such  complaints,  but  these  insects  never  have  any- 
thing of  the  kind.  A  row  of  shanties  never  burns,  but  stately 
buildings  go  down  or  up  in  smoke  daily. 

They  are  an  exasperating  set.  They  do  not  seem  to  know 
that  it  is  rather  discreditable  than  otherwise  for  a  man  not  in 
the  trade  to  actually  hnow  all  about  wines  and  liquors,  and 
things  of  that  nature.  But  when  a  young  fellow  is  weak 
enough  to  profess  this  disreputable  knowledge  when  he  has  it 
not,  he  ought  to  be  immediately  taken  out  and  killed.  To  see 
the  old  wine  tasters  and  the  ancient  beer  drinkers,  who  do 
actually  know  all  about  these  things,  smile  and  wink  at  the 
vapormgs  of  these  young  simpletons,  is  a  piteous  sight.  But, 
heaven  help  them,  they  go  on  just  the  same.  Panoplied  in 
egotism,  they  do  npt  know^  they  are  asses,  and  therefore  enjoy 
themselves.  It  is  a  delightful  thmg  to  be  an  egotist.  An 
egotist  pities  the  people  who  do  not  enjoy  him. 

We  had  him  on  our  steamer  down  the  Rhine.  lie  w^as  six 
feet  high,  with  a  moustache,  and  a  billy-cock  hat,  and  pointed 
shoes,  and  short  coat,  and  all  that,  and  he  talked  to  everybody. 

"Know  Ned  Stokes?  Should  say  so!  Knew^  him  before 
he  killed  Jim  Fisk.  Used  to  meet  him  at  Harry  Felter's,  and 
many  a  hot  old  time  I've  had  with  him.  Last  time  I  met  Ned 
was  in  Chicago,  and  we  were  both  so  blind  drunk  ^ve  didn't 
knoAv  whether  we  were  in  Illinois  or  Louisiana." 

He  rattled  on  about  wines,  and  salads,  and  so  on,  and  then 
a  bottle  of  wine  that  he  had  ordered  came  up.  He  took  a 
little  of  it  in  his  mouth,  and  rinsed  it,  and  passed  the  bottle 
under  his  nose,  backward  and  forward,  and  sniffed  critically, 
and  then  remarked  sagely  that  it  would  do,  but  that  it  was  not 
quite  up  to  the  mark,  and  that  ifw^as  difficult  to  g6t  good 
wine  even  in  the  Rhine  country. 


662  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

From  this  he  glided  off  to  beer,  criticising  the  various  varie- 
ties, with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  lived  a  long  life  in  sam- 
pling beverages  and  doing  everything  else  of  that  kind,  and  he 
branched  out  in  cheerful  conversation  about  celebrities  in  the 
various  walks  of  life. 

"  D'ye  ever  meet  ISTed  Sothern  ?  Poor  ^ed !  There  was 
Ned  and  Billy  Florence,  and  we  used  to  have  high  old  times 
before  poor  I^ed  went  under.     I  remember — " 

Tibbitts  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair,  which  portended  some- 
thing. 

^'Then  there  was  Uncle  John  Brougham,  and  Lester 
Wallack" — and  he  went  glibly  through  all  the  noted  actors 
and  actresses  as  though  he  had  been  a  boon  companion  and 
bosom  friend  of  all  of  them  for  years. 

Then  he  took  a  short  excursion  into  the  realm  of  sport.  He 
knew  every  pugilist  who  had  ever  fought,  every  rower,  every 
pedestrian,  and  all  the  crack  shots  and  base  ball  players,  and 
he  had  the  dates  of  their  various  performances  down  to  a  dot. 
He  reeled  off  this  interesting  matter,  toying  the  while  with 
corks  from  champagne  bottles,  pausing  a  moment  in  his  narra- 
tions, to  give  the  history  of  each  one. 

He  not  only  knew  all  these  people,  but  he  never  by  any 
means  used  family  names.  He  did  not  say,  "  Mr.  Fechter,"  it 
was  '^  Charley,"  "  Old  Charley,"  and  when  he  spoke  of  women 
it  was  not  "  Miss  Rose  Eytinge,"  it  was  "  Eosy."  And  he  kept 
on  talking  of  clubs,  and  horses,  and  yachts,  and  fishing,  and 
gunning,  and  cards,  and  women,  and  racing,  and  "events"  of 
that  sort,  till  Tibbitts  pounced  down  upon  him  as  a  cat  does 
upon  a  mouse. 

"May  I  ask  what  part  of  the  Great  Republic  you  are 
from?"  asked  Tibbitts. 

"I  hail  from  Kokomo,  Indiana,  but  I  spend  most  of  my 
time  East." 

"  Your  business  ? " 

"  Business,  ah,  I  am  in  hardware." 

"I  see  —  you  have  a  branch  house  in  l^ew  York.  Do  you 
know  Billy  Yanderbilt?  I^o?  You  ought  to  know  him. 
Take  Billy  Yanderbilt  and  Russ  Sage,  and  Cy  Field,  and  little 
Gouldy,  and  you  just  more   than  have   an  everlasting   team. 


663 

And  there's  Chet  Arthur ;  who'd  ever  spose  that  Chet  would 
ever  have  got  to  be  President  ?  Some  men  have  all  the  luck. 
And  there's  Jack  Sherman,  of  Ohio,  why  Jack  and  I  —  but 
never  mind.  I  don't  let  on  all  I  know.  But  I  tell  you,  when 
Jack  and  his  brother  Gump  —  he's  the  general  of  the  armies 
now,  and  his  other  brother  Charley,  is  a  judge.  Poor  Scotty, 
of  Philadelphia,  the  president  of  the  Pennsylvania  Koad,  he's 
gone.  He  couldn't  stand  the  racket,  and  he  went  under.  But 
Hughy  Jewett,  of  the  Erie,  he's  another  kind  of  a  rooster,  he 
is.  He  is  in  with  Gus  Belmont,  and  they  two,  with  Jim  Keene 
and  Dave  Mills,  of  San  Francisco  —  well  you  ought  to  just  see 
them  punish  wine  after  they  have  taken  the  boys  in  and  done 
for  'em.  They  are  up  to  everything,  they  are.  I  remember 
one  night  —  " 

"  Where  are  you  from  ? "  asked  the  knowing  young  man, 
gasping  in  astonishment  at  this  array  of  names  and  the 
familiarity  with  which  they  were  used. 

"  Me !  Oh,  I'm  from  Oshkosh ;  but  I  have  a  branch  house 
in  Kew  Yoric  too.  I  go  down  just  once  a  year  to  sell  hve 
stock,  and  I  pick  up  more  names  in  the  week  I  stay  there  than 
an  ordinary  man  can  remember,  and  I  remember  all  their 
given  iiames,  and  I  can  reel  them  off  just  as  fast  as  any 
Indiana  young  man  I  ever  met,  and  I  know  them  just  as  well. 
Only  I  prefer  financiers  and  statesmen  to  horse  men,  actors  and 
prize  fighters.  I  am  very  select.  Isext  year  I  shall  not  loiow 
anybody  under  a  senator.  You  may  just  as  well  know  big 
men,  really  great  men,  as  merely  notorious  ones,  ^ow  there's 
'Lyss  Grant  and  Bob  Schenck,  and  Rufe  Ingalls,  and  Black 
Jack  Logan,  you  ought  to  just  sit  down  with  them  at  a  game 
of  poker!  That's  where  you  have  sport,  and  as  for  fishing, 
BiU  Wheeler,  till  he  got  spoiled  by  being  Vice-President,  he 
could  everlastingly  handle  a  rod,  and  the  way  he'd  yank  'em 
out  was  a  caution.     He  was  no  slouch.     Many  a  time  I've — " 

The  wise  young  man  from  Kokomo,  Indiana,  Who  Knew 
Everybody,  could  not  endure  the  reminiscences  of  the  Oshkosh 
young  man,  and  he  beat  a  precipitate  retreat  and  we  saw  him 
no  more.  Tibbitts  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  and  remarked  that  he 
had  never  strained  his  imagination  so  frightfully  in  all  his  life. 


CHAPTER  XLY. 

COLOGNE,    ITS    CATHEDRAL    AND   OTHER   THINGS. 

There  may  be  altogether  too  much  of  even  cathedrals. 
After  going  through  those  in  London,  then  tackling  those  in 
Northern  France  and  wandering  through  those  in  Paris,  going 
out  of  your  way  to  see  a  dozen  more  or  less  in  Southern  France, 
then  taking  by  the  way  the  big  and  little  ones  m  Switzerland, 
one  gets,  as  it  were,  somewhat  tired  of  cathedrals,  and  wishes 
the  necessities  of  travel  did  not  compel  him  to  see  more  of  them. 

To  a  certain  extent  they  are  all  alike.  It  is  true  they  are 
all  built  in  different  styles,  but  there  is  a  striking  family  resem- 
blance, and  they  are  so  alike  that  after  you  have  seen  a  dozen 
or  two  you  will  not  be  very  much  interested  in  those  to  follow. 

The  interiors  are  all  alike,  and  the  ''  objects  of  interest "  are 
the  same.  They  have  the  same  style  of  pictures,  there  is 
always  a  "Descent  from  the  Cross"  by  an  old  master,  and 
there  is  a  well-selected  assortment  of  saints,  also  by  old  masters, 
and  the  interiors  are  always  dim  and  sombre,  and  have  the  pre- 
cise kind  of  light  that  aggravates  the  always  too  faithful  picture 
of  a  saint  undergoing  martyrdom,  or  dead  just  after  martyrdom. 

Mr.  Tibbitts  discoursed  at  length  upon  the  general  gloomi- 
ness of  religious  institutions.  Inasmuch  as  the  builders  of 
churches  put  in  their  time  and  money  for  the  good  of  mankind, 
he  wondered  why  they  did  n't  have  the  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  and  the  good  sense  of  those  engaged  in  wicked  pursuits. 

"Cathedrals  in  Europe,"  said  he,  "and  even  the  churches 
in  our  own  beloved  country,  are  always  the  darkest,  gloomiest 
places  that  human  ingenuity  can  possibly  devise.  I  remember 
the  one  my  grandmother  used  to  compel  me  to  attend  when  I 
was  a  boy  of  six.  The  interior,  even  to  the  pews,  and  their 
furnishings  were  of  a  dark  and  dismal  color,  the  hen-coop 
pulpit  was  dark,  the  trimmings  about  it  were  dark,  the  windows 
were  narrow  and  very  high  up.     The  ceiling  was  dark,  and  to 

(664) 


kN   ORTHODOX    CHURCH.  '  665 

add  to  the  prevailing  gloominess,  there  were  outside .  green 
blinds  over  the  windows  that  admitted  just  enough  light  to 
make  the  gloom  of  the  interior  felt.  And  then  the  domine 
was  a  sallow  man  with  gray  hair,  brushed  back  from  his  fore- 
head ;  and  he  dressed  in  a  black  frock  coat  buttoned  up  to  his 
chin.     He  was  the  least  cheerful  picture  in  the  church. 

"The  seats  in  the  pews  were  very  high,  and  slanted  slightly 
forward,  as  did  the  backs ;  and  as  the  feet  of  a  six-year-old 
child  wouldn't  touch  the  floor,  it  was  the  most  distressing 
thing  in  life  to  sit  there.  And  then  the  music !  The  worthy 
old  gentleman  in  the  pulpit,  in  a  voice  as  harsh  as  a  saw  mill, 
would  grind  out  a  most  doleful  hymn,  which  was  alwa3^s  sung 
to  most  doleful  music.  And  that  was  followed  by  a  sermon 
three  hours  lofig,  on  the  doctrine  of  f oreordination !  Cheerful, 
for  a  boy  of  six,  who,  when  dragged  into  that  gloom  on  a 
bright  June  morning,  looked  longingly  out  upon  the  bright, 
green  fields,  on  which  the  soft  sunhght  was  falling  like  a 
benison  from  a  good  Creator ;  and  who,  to  get  to  the  church, 
had  to  cross  a  beautiful  brook  with  trout,  which  knew  no 
Sunday,  swimming  in  the  clear  waters,  every  ripple  of  which 
was  an  invitation  to  him. 

"  ^ow  the  wicked  people  are  a  great  deal  more  Avise  than 
this.  A  wicked  place  is  always  made  attractive.  There  never 
was  such  a  lie  written  as  "  Yice  is  a  monster  of  such  hideous 
mien."  Yice  is  not  hideous ;  it  is  that  which  follows  vice  that 
is  hideous.  Champagne  is  as  beautiful  as  can  be;  its  effects 
are  hideous.  It  isn't  the  getting  drunk  that  is  hideous ;  it  is 
the  resultant  headache  the  next  morning.  A  bar-room  is 
always  made  light  and  pleasant ;  there  is  silverware,  and 
curious  glass,  and  chandehers,  and  warm  fires,  and  everything 
pleasant  and  cheerful.  Your  merchant,  who  is  worldly  if  not 
wicked,  makes  his  place  as  pleasant  as  possible,  and  even  the 
butcher  dresses  his  meats  in  sprigs  of  evergreen.  If  I  ever  go 
into  the  ministry,  I  shall  do  away  with  gloom,  and  have  my 
place  as  pleasant  as  light  and  flowers  can  make  it.  As  religion 
is  the  best  thing  in  the  world,  I  don't  see  why  it  should  be 
made  the  gloomiest.     As  for  these  pictures  —  bah !  " 

Then  we  went  through  the  cathedral.     We  did  it  as  a  duty. 

There's  another  trouble  about  cathedrals,  and  that  is  the 
"restoration"  that   is  going   on   perpetuallv  and   constantly. 


^(jQ  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

They  were  all  commenced  some  hundreds  of  years  ago,  they 
were  very  slow  in  building,  and  by  the  time  the  last  part  was 
done  the  first  part  had  decayed,  and  had  to  be  restored.  Go 
wherever  you  may  in  a  cathedral,  you  shall  see  a  large  part  of 
it  disfigured  with  scaffolds,  with  workmen  on  them,  and  builds 
ing  material  around,  giving  one  the  idea  they  are  yet  unfinished. 
It  is  said  by  scoffers  and  sneerers  that  the  reason  why  it 
took  several  centuries  to  finish  a  cathedral  was  to  prolong  the 
time  for  pulling  money  out  of  the  faithful,  and  that  the  per- 
petual restorations  that  are  going  on  are  for  the  same  purpose, 
but  of  course  that  is  a  slander.  Boss  Tweed  might  do  such  a 
thing,  but  not  those  filled  with  zeal  for  cathedrals. 

Cologne  has  many  points  of  interest,  but  the  principal  one 
is  its  grand  cathedral,  the  fourth  largest  in  Christendom ;  St. 
Peter's  at  Eome  standing  first,  the  cathedral  at  Milan  second, 
St.  Paul's  in  London  third,  Cologne  fourth. 

Though  it  may  not  be  so  huge  in  its  dimensions  as  the 
other  three,  it  certainly  cannot  be  excelled  in  beauty  of 
design  or  artistic  excellence  in  construction.  It  is  cruciform 
in  shape,  with  a  total  length  of  one  hundred  and  forty-eight 
yards,  and  sixty-seven  yards  breadth.  Its  walls  are  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  high,  the  roof  two  hundred  and  one  feet 
and  the  tower  over  the  transept  three  hundred  and  fifty-seven 
feetj  and  the  two  towers  over  the  west  facade  two  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  high. 

Tibbitts  didn't  think  much  of  the  architect.  The  tower 
over  the  transept,  he  insisted,  should  have  been  an  inch,  or 
an  inch  and  a  half,  wider  at  the  top. 

These  figures,  however,  give  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  immen- 
sity of  the  structure,  whose  imposing  appearance  is  greatly 
heightened  by  the  elaborate  galleries,  turrets,  flying  butresses 
and  cornices  that  adorn  every  portion  of  the  walls  and  towers. 
The  history  of  this  cathedral,  which  has  been  building  since 
1248,  is  somewhat  interesting  to  those  who  take  any  interest  in 
cathedrals.  The  foundation  stone  was  laid  on  the  twenty- 
fourth  of  August,  1248,  by  Archbishop  Conrad,  of  Hechstaden, 
but  it  was  a  number  of  years  before  anything  more  was  done. 
In  1322  the  choir  was  finished  and  consecrated.  In  1388  the 
nave  was  fitted  up  for  use,  and  in  1447  the  bells  were  placed 
in  the  south  tower.     From  that  time  the  interest  in  the  work 


THE    GEEAT    CATHEDRAL.  667 

gradually  died  out,  and  it  seemed  as  though  the  original  design 
would  never  be  carried  out.  In  1796  the  French  took  off  the 
lead  roof  that  had  been  placed  over  the  decaying  building,  and 
converted  it  into  a  hay  magazine. 

It  was  not  till  1823  that  anything  was  done  to  restore  the 
church.  In  that  year  the  work  of  renovation  commenced,  and 
a  few  years  later  a  talented  architect  named  Zwirner,  suo-, 
gested  the  completion  of  the  building  according  to  the  originai 
designs.  The  idea  was  enthusiastically  taken  up,  and  in  1842 
the  work  was  begun,  and  has  been  steadily  continued,  until 
now  only  a  few  finishing  touches  remain  to  be  given. 

The  architect  who  first  designed  this  structure,  undoubtedly 
the  finest  Gothic  edifice  in  the  world,  is  not  definitely  known, 
though  it  is  commonly  supposed  to  be  Meister  Gerard,  of  Riehl, 
a  small  village  near  Cologne.  The  imaginative  people  there 
had  to  have  a  legend  about  the  cathedral,  which  is  as  follows : 

Archbishop  St.  Engelbert  conceived  the  idea  of  building,  on 
the  site  of  an  old  Roman  church,  the  most  magnificent  cathe- 
dral the  world  ever  saw.  He  called  to  him  a  young  architect 
and  told  hun  to  prepare  plans  in  accordance  with  this  idea. 
The  young  man,  deHghted  with  this  oppoutunity  of  distinguish- 
ing himself  and  making  his  name  famous  forever,  worked  night 
and  day  to  design  a  building  that  would  meet  the  requirements 
of  the  Archbishop.  But  there  was  one  part  he  could  not  mas- 
ter. He  became  almost  insane  over  his  disappointment,  and 
was  about  to  give  up,  when  one  night  he  dreamed  he  saw 
the  missing  portion  sketclied  on  the  waU  of  his  chamber. 
Thoroughly  awakened,  he  sprang  from  his  bed  to  make  a  copy 
of  it.  But  it  had  disappeared,  and  in  the  room  stood  Satan 
with  an  illuminated  parchment  in  his  hand.  This  contained 
the  long  sought  plan.  Satan,  doing  the  regular  thing,  ofi'ered 
it  to  the  despairing  architect  on  condition  that  he  should  have 
his  soul  and  that  of  the  first  person  who  entered  the  cathedral. 
The  young  man  was  distracted.  He  wanted  the  plan,  and  told 
Satan  he  might  have  his  soul ;  but  he  could  not  barter  away 
the  salvation  of  another.  Satan  smiled,  returned  the  parch- 
ment to  bis  bosom,  and  was  about  to  go  away,  when  the  young 
man  acceded  to  his  terms. 

The  devil  knew  his  business.  He  knew  that  the  architect's 
ambition  would  not  let  him  stop  for  a  sonl  or  two,  as  he  had 


NASBT    IN    EXILE. 


mortgaged  his  own,  and  that  he  would  get  him  finally.    He  has 
gone  on  that  principle  ever  since  and  has  always  won. 

The  plans  were  then  made  out,  and  work  on  the  beautiful 
edifice  was  pushed  rapidly  forward,  and  at  length  was  so  far 


LEGEND  OF  THE  CATHEDRAL— COLOGNE. 

completed  that  a  date  was  set  for  the  consecration.  Then  the 
architect  realized  the  position  ho  was  in.  N"ot  only  was  his 
own  soul  everlastingly  lost,  but  that  of  an  innocent  person. 
This  so  preyed  upon  his  mind  that  the  people  noticed  his  agita- 
tion and  besought  the  Archbishop  to  ascertain  the  cause. 
The  unhappy  man  finally  told  "  the  good  father  the  whole 
circumstance,  much   to  the  latter's  horror.      He  was  advised 


HOW    SATAN    WAS    FOOLED.  CG9 

to  make  his  peace  with  God,  while  the  Archbishop  determined 
to  sacrifice  a  woman  of  ill-repute  who  was  in  prison  awaiting 
sentence,  by  making  her  the  first  to  enter  the  church. 

When  the  day  for  consecration  came,  a  long  box  contain- 
ing, as  was  supposed,  the  poor  woman,  was  carried  to  the 
cathedral,  the  door  was  opened,  the  lid  of  the  box  was  taken 
off,  and  the  unfortunate  victim  crawled  on  her  knees  into  the 
church,  the  attendants  sprinkling  holy  water  all  the  time. 

As  she  entered  there  was  a  terrific  noise.  Satan  appeared, 
broke  the  neck  of  the  unfortunate  in  the  box,  flying  off,  pre- 
sumably, with  her  soul.  He  then  flew  to  the  architect's  house 
and  broke  his  neck.  As  Satan  disappeared  from  the  church, 
the  woman  arose  from  the  box,  went  into  the  building  to  pray, 
while  the  servants  carried  from  the  dome  the  carcass  of  a  pig, 
which  had  been  enveloped  in  a  woman's  gown,  and  sacrificed. 

This  legend  will  not  do,  any  more  than  the  other  legends 
you  hear  about  these  places.  Satan  could  not  have  been  fooled 
with  a  pig.  It  is  no  compliment  to  him.  To  suppose  that  he 
did  not  see  the  woman  enter  the  church  is  to  give  him  credit 
for  very  little  intelligence  and  a  most  singular  neglect  of  his 
own  business ;  and  the  attempt  to  try  to  swindle  him  with  so 
clumsy  a  contrivance  is  too  absurd.  And  then  why  should 
Satan  be  perpetually  swindled  ?  The  contract  was  a  fair  one, 
and  should  have  been  carried  out  in  good  faith. 

It  may  be  remarked,  in  passing,  that  Satan  does  not,  now- 
a-days,  appear  to  those  having  charge  of  government  buildings 
in  the  United  States,  making  offers  of  plans  and  other  assis- 
tance, that  he  may  get  them  in  the  end.  He  is  too  acute  for 
that.  Why  should  ho-  go  to  ihe  trouble  of  helping  them,  ^vhen 
he  knows  perfectly  well  that  he  will  get  them,  anyhow  ?  He 
doesn't  waste  his  time  that  way  any  longer. 

The  interior  of  the  cathedral  is  large  and  very  impressive, 
the  fifty-six  pillars  which  support  the  roof  being  of  huge  but 
graceful  dimensions,  giving  a  pleasing  aspect  to  the  whole. 
The  stained  glass  windows  are-  particularly  fine,  being  among 
the  best  in  Europe. 

The  various  chapels  that  surround  the  nave  are  all  hand- 
somely decorated  with  statues,  frescoes,  and  fine  altars,  done  in 
the  highest  style  of  art.  The  wood  carving  representing  The 
Passion  in  the  altar  of  St.  Clara  is  especially  good,  as  is  also 


610 


NASBY    IN    EXILE. 


the  tapestry  on  the  walls  back  of  the  choir  stalls,  illustrative 
of  the  E^icene  creed  and  the  seven  sacraments.  This  tapestry 
was  worked  by  the  ladies  of  Cologne,  and  is  a  fine  specimen 
of  that  style  of  art. 

From  the  cathedral  the  visitor  naturally  turns  to  the  other 
churches,  but  a  hasty  inspection  of  them  is  all  that  is  recpired, 
for,  after  the  cathedral,  everything  else  loses  its  intere^j!:. 
There  are  some  very  imposing  edifices,  which,  if  they  did  not 
suffer  so  by  comparison  with  the  cathedral,  would  be  consid- 
ered fine  specimens  of  early  architecture.  For  instance,  the 
Gross  St.  Martin,  consecrated  in  11Y2,  which  is  a  massive  build- 
ing, with  an  imposmg  tower  surrounded  by  four  corner  turrets. 

The  still  older  church,  St.  Maria  im  Capital,  consecrated  in 
1049,  is  in  the  shape  of  a  cross,  built  in  the  Romanesque  style. 
The  interior  is  decorated  with  modern  frescoes  that  are  very 
badly  done,  being  of  light  and  gaudy  colors,  that  do  away 
entirely  with  the  idea  that  they  adorn  a  place  of  worship. 
Other  churches  of  interest  are,  St.  Peter's  and  St.  Cecilia,  the 
former  of  the  sixteenth  and  the  latter  of  the  tenth  and  twelfth 
century;  St.  Gereon,  dedicated  to  the  three  hundred  and 
eighteen  martyrs  of  the  The  ban  legion,  with  their  Captain 
Gereon,  who  perished  on  the  site  of  the  church  during  the 
the  persecutions  of  the  Christians  under  Diocletian. 

On  the  substructure  of  an  ancient  Roman  stronghold  stands 
the  Rath-house,  a  picturesque  building  erected  in  different  cen- 
turies, beginning  with  the  fourteenth.  Here  the  meetings  of 
Hanseatic  League  were  held  in  the  fourteenth  century. 

From  the  Rath-house  the  visitor  turns  to  the  markets, 
passing  through  narrow,  dirty  streets,  with  high  overlapping 
houses,  to  the  monument  of  Frederick  William  III.,  a  huge 
equestrian  statue  of  the  King.  Here  is  the  Ileumarkt,  and  a 
busy  sight  it  is.  As  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  is  a  vast  concourse 
of  people,  buying  and  seUing  all  manner  of  things.  The 
women,  with  their  white  caps  and  pecuHar  dresses,  flit  hither 
and  yon,  talking,  laughing  and  jesting  with  men,  who  are 
arrayed  in  costumes  that  suggest  the  old  Rheinish  peasants, 
made  familiar  by  the  painters  of  the  old  Rheinish  school. 

Time  was  when  Cologne,  founded  by  the  Ubii,  when 
Agrippa  compelled  them  to  migrate  from  the  right  to  the  left 
bank  of  the  Rhine,  was  a  power  in  that  land.     At  the  end  of 


ELEVEN    THOUSAND    VIKGINS.  671 

the  fifteenth  century  she  was  the  wealthiest  and  most  influen- 
tial city  in  Germany.-  Not  only  was  it  great  in  commerce,  but 
it  was  the  center  of  German  art,  both  in  architecture  and 
painting,  as  may  be  seen  yet  by  the  elegant  buildings,  designed 
and  erected  in  those  olden  days,  that  are  yet  standing,  and  in 
the  pictures  of  that  age  that  are  still  preserved. 

Cologne's  ^reat  troubles  were  internal  dissensions,  which 
finally  led  to  the  banishment  of  the  Protestants  in  1608.  It 
was  due  more  than  to  any  other  one  cause,  to  these  discords 
that  caused  the  city  to  gradually  decline  in  power  as  early  as 
the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Later  on  she  lost  nearly 
all  her  importance  and  continued  in  a  state  of  lethargy  until 
the  Prussians  obtained  control  in  1815,  since  which  time  her 
trade  and  commerce  have  been  steadily  improving,  making 
her  to-day  one  of  the  chiefest  commercial  cities  in  Germany. 

In  the  old  church  of  St.  Ursula  are  the  alleged  bones  of 
eleven  thousand  virgins.  The  legend  is  that  this  sainted 
woman,  a  Scotch  princess,  was  returning  from  a  pilgrimage  to 
Rome  with  eleven  thousand  virgins  in  her  train,  and  they  were 
set  upon  by  the  barbarous  Huns  and  all  slain.  There  can  be 
no  doubt  as  to  the  truth  of  the  legend  (if  you  want  to  believe 
it),  for  you  are  shown,  through  gratings,  bones  enough  to  stock 
a  cemetery. 

I  have  no  opinion  about  it.  Possibly  St.  Ursula  was  skillful 
enough  to  corner  that  number  of  virgins ;  but  would  the  Huns 
have  slain  them  all?  That  makes  us  pause.  It  was  a  great 
many  years  ago,  and  I  am  glad  the  legend  has  it  (for  I  wish  to 
believe  all  the  legends  I  can)  that  the  virgins  came  from  a 
country  far  distant  from  Cologne.  Could  a  saint,  be  she  ever 
so  devout,  find  that  number  in  Cologne  now?  It  is  not  for 
me  to  say.  Possibly  they  are  all  gone  on  pilgrimages.  Let  us 
take  the  legend  down  at  one  gulp,  and  forget  the  fact  that 
among  these  bones  are  the  remains  of  any  number  of  males, 
and  likcAvise  any  number  of  animals. 

In  this  same  church  you  are  shown  one  of  the  identical 
jars  in  which  water  was  miraculously  turned  into  wine  at  the 
marriage  in  Cana,  and  various  other  relics,  such  as  the  teeth  of 
saints,  and  cheerful  things  of  that  nature,  in  which  I  really 
could  take  no  especial  interest.  After  the  eleven  thousand 
skeletons  of  virgins,  anything  else  in  the  way  of  relics  seemed 


672  NASBY    IN    EXILE. 

tame.  If  they  had  saved  the  teeth  of  eleven  thousand  saints, 
it  would  have  been  something  hke ;  but  isolated  teeth,  single 
teeth  at  that,  make  too  small  a  show.  The  teeth  were  doubt- 
less genuine,  but  there  were  too  few  of  them. 

Cologne  is  probably  the  best  known  city  in  i^urope.  Leav- 
ing out  the  wonderful  cathedral,  and  the  bones  of  the  virgins 
and  the  history  tliat  clings  to  it,  giving  it  a  musty  and  ancient 
flavor,  it  is  the  place  ^vhere  cologne  water  was  invented,  and 
where  is  the  American  school-girl  who  does  not  know  all  about 
that?  She  may  know  nothing  about  the  cathedral,  but  she 
knows  all  about  that  especial  perfume.  A  man  named  Farina 
invented  it  several  generations  ago,  and  every  male  child  born 
since  in  the  famihes  of  perfumers  has  been  christened  Farina. 
There  are  at  least  fifty  places  where  the  "  original "  is  sold. 
Here  you  get  the  genuine,  and  though  you  shall  have  it  much 
better  in  any  little  drug  store,  in  any  "Western  village  in  Amer- 
ica, you  buy  a  flask  of  it  in  Cologne,  at  one  of  the  originals. 
It  is  the  thing  to  do.  Our  party  all  supplied  themselves, 
though  I  noticed  that  the  most  of  them  threw  the  flasks 
away,  from  the  train  on  the  way  to  Brussels.  It  was  genu- 
ine, but  cologne  by  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet. 


Home  I  There  are  other  countries  to  see,  but,  first,  home.  Three 
thousand  miles  away  lies  a  land  fairer  than  any  yet  visited,  a  country  more 
pleasing.  "We  are  glad  that  our  time  is  expended,  for  we  go  home  !  Six 
months  of  absence  is  quite  enough,  and  the  thought  of  returning  makes 
the  blood  course  quicker  in  one's  veins.  And  yet  never  was  time  more 
profitably  spent  than  in  these  rambles  through  strange  countries,  for  the 
experience  put  us  in  condition  to  appreciate  our  own.  An  American  has 
no  idea  how  good  America  is,  till  he  sees  Europe.  He  does  not  know  how 
good  a  government  he  has,  till  he  hves  for  a  time  under  others.  It  requires 
a  glimpse  of  oppressed  Ireland  or  king-ridden  Prussia,  to  make  one  prop- 
erly appreciate  a  Republic.  We  have  no  palaces,  but  we  have  no  soldiers. 
We  have  no  cathedrals,  but  we  have  no  paupers.  We  have  no  ruins,  and 
shall  never  have,  for  under  our  system  the  ephemeral  stmctures  of  to-day 
will  be  replaced  to-morrow  with  what  will  be  eternal.  Every  American 
should  go  abroad  once  at  least,  that  he  may,  with  sufficient  fervor,  thank 
the  fates  that  cast  his  lines  in  pleasant  places.  And  so,  glad  that  we  have 
been  abroad,  but  much  gladder  to  get  back,  we  turn  our  faces  westward. 
Our  exile  is  ended. 

THE  END. 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. . 


^:jS>'V' 

APR  1 2  1996 

iAY?-7l956LiJ 

29Jafl'/?4it,a 

'Ww 

REC'D  LD 

RECEIVED 

JAN17'64-Krt 

JAN  2  3  1996 

Cif 

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